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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 || Tumblr

Chapter 18 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 18: discussion of passive suicidal ideation; unintentional self-harm (scratching at arms as a stim, to the point of drawing blood); brief allusion to childhood neglect; internalized ableism (re: ADHD, but not explicitly stated as such); brief acephobia (past experience & internalized); Jon-typical negative self-talk, guilt, & rejection sensitive dysphoria; discussion of past trauma (including having bodily autonomy overridden, canon non-consensual surgery, & stabbing); internalized victim blaming/comparing victim to their abuser; discussion of self-inflicted blinding/eye gouging (past attempts & potential future attempts); brief mention of Mr. Spider/arachnophobia themes; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 18: Reconciliation

Once Jon opened the door and the Fears rewrote reality, not only was sleep no longer a physiological necessity – it was no longer an option. Much like the Coffin, even a temporary escape via unconsciousness was contrary to a world defined by the ceaseless generation of terror. And just as it did any human in that place, perpetual wakefulness took its toll on Jon’s already ravaged mental health.

The fact that he was no longer plaguing the nightmares of his victims may have been a small consolation, if not for the fact that he was instead witnessing the waking nightmares of billions of new victims: the same scenes looping over and over, layered one on top of the other, an endless soundtrack screaming in the background of his mind. Venting a statement from time to time could only do so much to quell that storm. He’d really had no choice but to learn to compartmentalize on autopilot and dissociate on command.

So when, for the first time since before the world ended, Jon awakens to Martin at his side, his mind cannot immediately reconcile the sight. He might think he was dreaming, if not for the fact that he hasn’t had a pleasant dream of his own since he became the Archivist. And even before then – well, he’d always been more predisposed to nightmares.

Jon feels his heart stutter in his throat when he sets eyes on Martin. Their hands are still clasped together, and despite the sweatiness of their palms and the way Jon’s arm is cramping from the angle, he has no desire to let go. Instead, he lies still, breathing shallow and measured, fearful of any sound or movement that might shatter the almost uncanny peace of the moment.

He really shouldn’t be staring like this, though, should he? Martin has given him permission to stare many times before, but that was in a future where they had Seen each other at their most vulnerable. Being seen, truly seen – as terrifying as it was for the both of them – became a comfort, because of what they had been through together. Here in the past, Martin hasn’t shared that experience. He might not be as keen to put up with Jon’s incessant watching.

Those reservations still aren’t enough to stop him, though.

Martin is still sat in his chair, but bent sideways at the waist to lean halfway on the cot. He’s snoring lightly, his head pillowed on his free arm, glasses askew. The angle is probably hell on his back.

Maybe I should wake him up, Jon thinks idly, one corner of his mouth turning up in a small, fond smile.

He doesn’t. Instead, his eyes remain rapt on Martin, soaking in every detail, as beloved and familiar as always: the length of his eyelashes, the shape of his lips, the spray of freckles across his nose, that particularly stubborn cowlick that always, always stands on end. Jon wants to reach out, sink his fingers into those curls, massage his scalp in that way Martin used to love – but that would be a step beyond staring, wouldn’t it? So he watches: unblinking, aching, adoring, and so overwhelmed that he's at risk of tearing up.

It’s painfully, embarrassingly maudlin of him, he knows, but can he really be faulted for that? Jon surpassed the lifespan of a normal human several times over, bereft and alone in a desolated realm of his own making. He spent much of that time out of his mind with grief, drowning in hopelessness and guilt, cycling between numb dissociation and raw destruction. When he wasn’t wandering aimlessly – near-catatonic, subsumed by the never-ending deluge of fear permeating that world – he was lashing out. Although he couldn’t die, he could still hurt, and so he did, with exacting focus: both himself and all the other monsters going through the motions in that doomed world.

Ending them neither decreased nor increased the net output of fear, but it was the closest Jon could come to some nebulous, fleeting sense of justice. He didn’t enjoy it – in fact, he hated the other Avatars sometimes, bitter that they could attain a release that seemed impossible for him. His first few acts of vengeance in those early days had felt good in the moment, but the high never lasted: just like taking a statement.

Eventually, once the fear began to grow scarcer, it felt more and more like granting mercy – often to monsters who never showed any themselves – rather than meting out justice. A few moments of pain was preferable to slow, torturous starvation. Breekon was the first to request such a favor. He was far from the last.

It made Jon feel monstrous in an all new way, offering escape to predators when he could do nothing to save their victims – at least not without turning them into Avatars themselves, creating more monsters to replace the old. But it also made him feel real – a tangible, active presence interacting with the world, as opposed to a ghost, unseen and unknowable. An undeniable consequence, rather than a detached observer.

Tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. Jon tries to swallow them back, but his throat has grown thick with emotion. He never expected to escape that place; never expected to see a friendly face or hear a kind word ever again. And now that he has…

This isn’t for you, says an insidious little voice in the back of his head: some twisted chimera comprised of all those who have known him well enough to see him for what he is, to catalogue his failings, to pass judgment. There is no place for you in this world. You don’t belong here. You were made for something greater; eliminate that, and what remains –

A gentle knock-knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts.

“Jon?” Georgie pushes the door open and peers through the gap. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” It comes out as a fractured whisper. He sniffles and rubs his eyes, but Georgie has already noticed his distress.

“Bad dream?”

“No.” Jon clears his throat and props himself up on one elbow. “No, ah – quite the opposite, really.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, probing for an explanation.

Jon's gaze drifts to his hand, still joined with Martin’s. “None of this feels real, and…”

“And?”

“I, uh…” Jon closes his eyes, blinking back tears. “I don’t deserve it.”

“The world doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe it should.” Jon lets out a wet, clipped laugh.

No one got what they deserved in the world he created, only what hurt them the most. Tempting as it was to find some meaning in it all, to retroactively draw correlations between past actions and current circumstances, Jon Knew from the very beginning that there was no cause-and-effect at play. Not really. Any misery being experienced in that new world was utterly unrelated to the lives people lived before the change. It was indiscriminate. Everyone was afraid and in agony, regardless of any subjective judgment on whether or not they deserved it.

And nothing Jon did changed those material conditions in the slightest. He could shift an individual’s role from subject to object and vice versa, reassign their place on the spectrum of the tortured versus the torturer, but at the end of the day, he was still just facilitating fear, regardless of what shape it took. Despite being one of the most powerful and fearful things roaming that scorched earth, his options were as limited as they’d always been. Every choice led to more or less the same end.

By every measure that could be said to actually matter, he was ultimately powerless.

Would it have been any more tolerable if the suffering was more proportionate? If at least some of the people trapped in the domains could be said to be receiving just punishment for any agony they themselves had inflicted before the end of the world? Maybe. But probably not. Securing vengeance never actually yielded any meaningful catharsis for Jon. Even Jonah Magnus' ultimate fate produced nothing but revulsion. The Archive may feed on such fear, but after all this time, Jon – all the pieces of him that still belong to him – has no desire to behold suffering. He has seen enough for several lifetimes, and he was never once given the option to look away, let alone put an end to it.

Jon shakes his head and begins to fully sit up, slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Martin. He’s hardly expecting Georgie to engage with his newest avenue of brooding, but after a minute, she gives a thoughtful hum and leans against the doorframe.

“Don’t know that I want to see what that would look like,” she says pensively.

“What?”

“A world where ‘deservedness’ was quantifiable – where you could put a precise value on suffering, and every action had a moral price tag on it that stayed the same regardless of the circumstances. Where subjective experiences could be – shoved into neat little categories that everyone could agree on.”

“Like Robert Smirke,” Jon murmurs.

“Sure.” Georgie shrugs. “I don’t know if humanity as we know it could even exist in a world like that. We’d be… unrecognizable.”

“O-oh?”

“Mm. We aren’t equations. Or – well, we are, I guess, at the most basic physical level, if you scale down small enough. Atoms, physics, chemical reactions and all that. But when it comes to the experience of consciousness, personal identity, free will… isn’t the complexity what gives it all meaning? If we could account for every last variable, know the exact effect of every cause, what would that make us?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Life isn’t about the destination, I guess is what I’m saying.” Georgie runs her thumb over her lips as she muses. “We already know the destination. One way or another, everything dies.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Jon recites, a distant quality to his voice. “There’s no difference between that last moment that ushers us out into oblivion and the one we experience now – everything ends, even the universe, even time. And… that means it has always already ended.”

It takes a moment for Jon to come back to himself, blinking dazedly. It's another few seconds before he realizes what happened – and when he does, a sudden, heavy coldness takes root and blossoms in his chest.

“I’m so– I didn’t – I wasn’t –”

“It’s – fine,” Georgie says, although she sounds a bit rattled. “It was an accident.”

“Still, I’m sorry, I –”

“Apology accepted, Jon. I’m not angry.” When she sees Jon gearing up to belabor the point, she holds up a hand. “You’re forgiven. Let’s just move on, okay?”

Jon bites down on his lower lip, torn between dueling impulses: groveling, berating himself, shutting down, or… simply taking Georgie at her word. With a long, shaky exhale, he settles on trust: Georgie expressed a desire to drop it and move forward. He should respect that, right? Right.

He bites back his protests and nods stiffly. “Okay.”

“Look, what I was trying to get at is – knowing the destination doesn’t invalidate the journey, right? If anything, the inevitability of an ending is what gives meaning to all the rest.”

The End forced Georgie to confront the insignificance of her own birth and death against the backdrop of a vast universe – but rather than allow that realization to immobilize her with despair, she opted to make all the moments in between meaningful. Jon can't help but once again remember the confidence with which Martin countered Simon Fairchild's brand of flippant nihilism: I think our experience of the universe has value, even if it disappears forever.

I might have a type, he thinks to himself, equal parts wry and endeared.

“We all end up in the same place,” Georgie continues, “but that doesn’t have to mean we all follow the same path. What matters is what happens along the way, and – if you could map out every bit of the journey, predict the outcome of every single step you take, then – what else is left?”

“If you already know the answer to every question,” Jon says softly, “what’s the point of being?”

Jon isn’t sure what expression he’s making, but whatever it is, Georgie blanches when she catches his eye.

“Oh, I – Jon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“No, it’s – it’s alright. You’re not wrong.” Jon chuckles awkwardly. “Is it odd that I find the thought…reassuring? Sort of?”

“We’re getting lost in the weeds, aren't we?” Georgie says with a flustered laugh. “My original point was – this obsession you have with deservedness, and establishing dichotomies, and trying to find simple, objective answers to complicated questions – it’s a skewed way of looking at the world, and it’s eating you alive. You have to stop treating your life like it’s a scorecard. Relentlessly punishing yourself isn’t going to change the past. It’s not healthy, it’s not productive, and it just makes you more likely to sabotage your future.”

“I know. It’s just… the things I’ve done, they’re – unforgivable. I can’t leave it behind, and I can’t take it back.”

Jon used to wonder when the Eye would make him too monstrous to feel shame. It never did, never had to: he abetted it regardless of how he felt about it. For the most part, he can’t even apologize: the people he hurt are either dead or have no memory of what Jon did to warrant it. Besides, some consequences too irrevocable, too catastrophic to cushion with remorse.

Sorry that you died because I failed; sorry that I burned a bridge that could have kept us both safe; sorry that you’re trapped here just because I stood too close to you. Sorry for the invaded privacy, sorry for the mistreatment, sorry for all the hunger and fear and nightmares. Sincerest apologies, everyone, for the eternal torment.

He could have composed a personalized apology for every last person in the world had he wanted – he’d certainly had the time to spare, as well as detailed knowledge of each victim’s plight. But any apology he could possibly make, no matter how eloquent or sincere, would have been insulting in its inadequacy. What reparations can be made to soften the blow of a life lost or a world ended?

“S-so,” he says, eyes downcast, “that just leaves… guilt.”

And fear. Fear enough to cram an Archive full to bursting.

“I know,” Georgie says.

“I’m sorry, I –” Jon breathes a bitter laugh. “I’m a broken record, aren’t I? I fall apart every time I see you.”

“Jon,” George sighs, “you don’t have to apologize. You’ve been through unimaginable trauma. You’ve had barely any chance to start to heal from it. You’re still living it. I don’t expect a few heart-to-heart conversations to close the book on… all of that.”

“Still, it’s – annoying, I imagine.” Jon picks nervously at a loose thread on his trouser leg. “To sit through the same conversation over and over again.”

“I’d be more worried if you went back to just – pretending to be okay, refusing to talk about it. It’s been barely a month since you got out of the hospital. Shit, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you crawled out of that Coffin.” Her eyes narrow slightly, intent and searching. “Speaking of which, I should ask: Are you a danger to yourself right now?”

“What?” The question catches Jon off guard. “No? N-no, I’m – why would you –”

“Just checking in. Which I’m going to keep doing. Regularly. So you may as well make peace with that now.”

“It’s not like I’m going to kill myself,” Jon mumbles – aiming for casually unconcerned and instead landing squarely in transparently uncomfortable territory. “I’m fairly certain I can’t die a mundane human death, anyway.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt yourself. And being suicidal sucks regardless of whether you actually plan on going through with it.” Jon studiously avoids eye contact as Georgie speaks. “Anyway, I know I sound like a broken record, but I’ll say it as many times as you need reminding: You have a second chance. You said you were going to make the best of it, and you can’t do that if you won’t let yourself have some peace.” Her expression softens, as does her voice. “Just… let yourself be, won’t you?”

There’s truth to what Georgie is saying. Even if he wasn’t mired in guilt, though…

“I’m afraid,” Jon whispers. “Of losing him, of losing everyone, of…”

Of dooming everyone. It was so easy. All it took was his voice, an incantation, and this ceaseless, aberrant hunger. He’s seen the consequences of the destiny for which he has unwittingly been prepared. Like it or not, he is the most dangerous thing in this world – a walking hair-trigger, already having overstayed his welcome on this earth by several lifetimes. One misstep, and…

“I should be grateful to have this, to have him – and I am, but every – every time I come close to letting myself feel – safe, hopeful, content, it… it never lasts. It’s always swallowed up by fear – not of if something goes wrong, but when. It just feels like… any choice I make is bound to end in tragedy. Like there’s no way out. Like nothing I do will change anything. I – I’ll mess it up; I always do.”

It’s a pattern that began long before he became entangled in Jonah’s machinations. Jon was a difficult child who grew into an even more difficult adult, always saying and doing all the wrong things because he’s never been able to fully grasp the invisible rules that other people seem to navigate so naturally. At home he could never shake the feeling that he was an odd guest, secretly unwelcome but with nowhere else to keep him; at school he was a menace, asking all the wrong questions at all the wrong times and prone to following his own lesson plans whenever the curriculum failed to hold his interest. Peer relationships typically failed to take root: he’s too guarded, too abrasive, too annoying and tactless and awkward. Whatever friendships managed to blossom tended to wilt before long, for all the same reasons.

Romantic relationships have historically been even more fraught. There are expectations that he will never meet, forms of intimacy that are traditionally assumed to be required rather than optional for such a relationship to qualify as normal, healthy, and sustainable. In his experience, setting those boundaries have usually been a deal-breaker. Georgie was the first to accept that aspect of him unconditionally; Martin was the second – and although Jon no longer believes that it’s a problem to be fixed, those old, long-held insecurities still rear up from time to time.

He had hoped he could at least prove himself capable as a Head Archivist, but, well… he was inexperienced with the duties of a mundane archiving job, unsuited to managing a department, and his preexisting difficulties with establishing rapport were exacerbated by his need to maintain a professional boundary between himself and his assistants. He tried to make up for those shortcomings with effort and dedication and – in retrospect – frankly obscene levels of overwork, but he never did manage to be a good boss or a good coworker.

It’s a cruel joke that of all the roles to finally excel in, it’s as the Archivist – or, specifically, Jonah’s Archivist. He met every expectation, even – perhaps especially – when he didn’t know what those expectations were. Not like Gertrude. She would doubtless be disappointed by her successor: constantly second-guessing himself, resolving indecisiveness with impulsivity, stumbling around in the dark, pointlessly sabotaging himself and those unlucky enough to find themselves in his orbit – ultimately devastating a world that she had made so many ruthless sacrifices to protect.

Jon has spent most of his life fumbling at being a peer, a friend, a partner, a colleague, an ally. If he couldn’t manage to figure it out when he was still human, how is he supposed to play at being a person now, when he’s…

“This – this isn’t for things like me,” Jon says hoarsely. He can feel more tears teeming as he looks down at Martin: kind and good and so, so deserving of happiness, of security, of a peaceful life that Jon fears he will never be able to provide, no matter how fiercely he loves. “I don’t get to” – end the world – “to become – this, and still get a happy ending.”

“Do you Know that?” Georgie asks.

“N-no, I can’t predict the future, but –”

“Then you shouldn’t assume the worst. You don’t have a fixed destiny, no matter what you’ve been led to believe.” She scowls at him. “And stop referring to yourself as a ‘thing’. It really doesn’t matter how human you are or aren’t, you're still you. You’re still a person.”

Jon doesn’t know how to respond to that without either contradicting her or offering lukewarm, disingenuous agreement. Luckily, he doesn’t have to: Martin begins to stir, and Jon hurriedly wipes away any evidence of tears, fighting to regain his composure. With a snuffle and a sleepy groan, Martin opens his eyes, blinking blearily.

“Hey there,” Jon says with a soft smile.

Martin returns a vague grin, muzzy with sleep. With unfocused eyes, he appears to slowly take in his surroundings, gaze lingering briefly on and then skating over his hand, fingers still interlocked with Jon’s. When his attention drifts towards Georgie, he stares at her for a long few seconds, squinting at the influx of light from the hallway. Another slow blink, another extended stare at his and Jon’s linked hands, and then his eyes widen. Color blooms on his cheeks as he abruptly surfaces into full consciousness, glasses tumbling off his face as he jerks upward.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he says, groggy voice at odds with the panicked embarrassment in his eyes. He pulls his hand back, mumbling apologies about clammy palms. As he straightens in his seat, he lets out a pained hiss.

Jon cringes sympathetically. “You should’ve taken the cot.”

Martin ignores the comment, scrubbing at his face now, hiding it in his sleeve. It does nothing to conceal his reddened ears, Jon notes with amused affection.

“Did you sleep alright, otherwise?” Jon asks.

“Mm?” Martin retrieves his glasses and slips them back on before turning his attention to Jon. “Oh, uh – yes. You?”

“Yes, actually.”

His first routine breakdown of the day notwithstanding, Jon did manage to sleep through most of the night, only waking once after a brief foray back into Karolina’s nightmare.

The rest of the dreams were relatively benign. He spent some time with Georgie. Naomi was pleased to see him and eager as ever to regale him with cat anecdotes. Dr. Elliott was less pleased, but he was at least no more afraid of Jon than he had been during the coma. Seeing Jordan Kennedy was as uncomfortable as ever; Jon doubts he’ll ever know what to say to him. Tessa was more difficult to read. She wasn’t exactly happy to see him again, but she didn't seem angry, either.

Should’ve known it wouldn’t last, she’d sighed to herself – and then promptly changed the subject before Jon could stammer out an apology.

“Learned a lot about the right to repair movement,” Jon says absently.

“What?” Martin asks, bewildered.

“Oh, uh – Tessa Winters. Gave a statement in 2016 about a haunted chatbot. It forced her to watch a seventeen-hour-long video of a man eating his computer.”

Georgie perks up at that.

“Oh, is that the, uh – that creepypasta about that guy who mutilated himself trying to upload his mind to his computer?”

“Sergey Ushanka.”

“Yeah! Something about how he tried to crack open his skull and wire his brain to the motherboard?”

“That is one variation of the story, yes.”

“What,” Martin says flatly.

“I was thinking about doing a What the Ghost episode on that one,” Georgie explains, her sheepish smile doing little to conceal her lingering enthusiasm. “Haunted technology is always a popular topic. Didn’t expect that one to be real, though. I wonder –”

Jon answers her question before she can ask it: “I doubt Tessa would be interested in being a guest on the show.”

“Yeah,” Georgie sighs, “I guess not.”

Martin lets out a nervous chuckle. “What, uh – sorry, what does any of this have to do with right to repair?”

“Oh. Right. Tessa’s one of the people whose nightmares I… invade. Perpetuate, I suppose. She’s, ah, not my biggest fan, considering what I’ve put her through, but she says I’m a decent audience.” Martin gives Jon a blank look. “She basically gives me free lectures sometimes? Technology-related subjects, mostly. Fascinating stuff.”

“God, you sound like a grandpa,” Georgie says.

“Yes, yes, Tessa tells me the same.” Jon rolls his eyes. “Anyway, she has some, ah… strong feelings about Apple. Among other things.”

“Right,” Martin says slowly. “Wait, back up – you know what creepypasta is?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says with a sigh and an indulgent smile, “I know what creepypasta is.”

“That particular internet rabbit hole was one of his many, many avenues of procrastination in uni, believe it or not,” Georgie says.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a Luddite. I tried to introduce the Archives to the twenty-first century, remember? It’s not my fault the Beholding has a retro aesthetic.”

“Huh,” Martin says with a bemused smile. Then he yawns. “Sorry. What time is it?”

As soon as the question is posed, the Beholding drops the knowledge into Jon’s head.

“About 10:30,” Georgie answers, just as Jon says, “10:28 and forty-six seconds” – and then, wincing at his own pedantry, “Sorry.”

Georgie looks ready to let loose with a snarky reply, but before she can say anything, Martin is on his feet, the blanket on his lap sliding to the floor.

“10:30? Jon, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I – I wasn’t really paying attention to the time, I haven’t actually been awake for…”

Jon trails off as the Beholding casually notifies him that he woke up thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. He can feel heat pooling in his cheeks as a vague sense of shame sets in. Good lord, was he really just watching Martin sleep for that long?

“I should have been upstairs over an hour ago,” Martin says, frantically scanning the room for –

For his shoes, the Eye informs Jon.

Do you ever mind your goddamn business? Jon shoots back. On impulse, he swats at the air to his side, momentarily forgetting that the ever-present eldritch tagalongs he’d grown accustomed to during the apocalypse are no longer with him. In his dreams, he’d come eye-to-eye with them again for the first time since waking up in the hospital; apparently, that’s all it took to reintroduce this old, reflexive shooing tic to his waking life.

Georgie raises her eyebrows at the gesture, but Martin appears not to notice, preoccupied with his escalating panic.

Jon scrambles for some way to soothe him, but he’s at a loss. In his future, through trial and error and intense observation, he had painstakingly learned how to comfort Martin. Now, though, after so much time spent alone, Jon is out of practice. Moreover, he’s always been more adept at offering comfort through action and touch rather than words – and right now, he’s still uncertain where Martin’s boundaries lie.

So Jon continues to sit there, hands fluttering slightly as his mind rifles through a mountain of inane clichés in search of something, anything that might be able to help. Meanwhile, the Archivist in him is distracted by Martin’s growing anxiety. It isn’t the same as abject fear, per se, but it’s similar enough to pique the Eye’s interest.

Once again, Jon takes a swipe at the empty space beside him – and again ignores Georgie’s amused expression.

“If Peter notices I’m not in the office…” Martin nearly trips over the blanket on the floor as he turns in place to search behind him. “He – he’ll be suspicious –”

That’s when Georgie decides to speak up. Thank god, Jon thinks to himself. She exudes far more confidence than he does in this sort of situation.

“Won’t he already be suspicious?” she says, calm as can be. It’s enough to bring Martin’s fretting to a pause. “It’s not like you can keep this a secret forever, right? Your change in attitude is… pretty noticeable, Martin.”

“I – I – I didn’t really think much further ahead than –” Martin laughs nervously. “I was just – playing along, and it felt right, like if I just kept following the path I’d reach a – a – a conclusion? I don’t know what, but…” His shoulders slump, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides; he tugs at the hem of his shirt, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I don’t think I cared much? I figured I could just – gather information and pass it along, and if nothing else I could keep Peter’s attention away from the Archives, and… that was the whole plan, to just keep doing that until… until whatever was going to happen happened, I guess, and now I don’t – I don’t know where to go from here, and…”

“Martin?” Jon says softly.

“Huh?” Martin finally glances up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“Can I take your hand?”

Cautiously, wordlessly, Martin offers his hand. Jon takes it in his, lacing their fingers together loosely.

“It’ll be alright,” he says. “You don’t have to figure it out on your own. Not anymore.”

Martin’s lips move minutely for a few seconds before meekly saying, “That doesn’t feel right.”

“I know.”

“I’m – I’m not saying you’re lying,” Martin says, rushed and anxious to appease, “it’s just…”

“Hearing something isn’t the same as accepting it. Or trusting it.”

“I do trust you, I do, it’s just… I don’t know. It’s like I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“It’s alright,” Jon says gently. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers, his voice steeped in guilt.

“You don’t need to apologize.” When Martin opens his mouth to protest, Jon reiterates: “You have nothing to be sorry for. I promise.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a pause, still sounding somewhat doubtful. Then he grimaces. “I, uh, still don’t know what to do about Peter, though.”

“That depends on what you want,” Jon says, squeezing Martin’s hand. “I trust you. I’ll follow your lead.”

“O-okay,” Martin repeats. He blinks several times, surprised, before giving a nervous chuckle. “Only… I, uh, don’t really know what I want, to be honest?”

“Break it down into smaller pieces,” Georgie says. Martin flinches slightly – he must have momentarily forgotten she was in the room. “Do you want to go back to the Lonely?”

There’s only a short delay before Martin says, “No. I don’t… it feels different than before. Doesn’t fit right.”

“Do you want to continue working with Peter?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says slowly. “Not really? I mean, I never wanted to in the first place, it just… seemed like the thing to do.”

“Okay, rephrase,” Georgie says. “Do you want to stop working with him now?”

“I think so.” Another pause. Martin’s brow wrinkles as he stares at the floor in thought before glancing back up at Georgie. “Yeah, I – I think I do.”

“But…?” Georgie prompts, sensing Martin’s uncertainty.

“I worry about how he might react. He’ll probably start paying more attention to the Archives, and…” Martin looks at Jon. “What if he takes it out on you? Or – I mean, I don’t want him to hurt anyone, but I…” He looks down at their joined hands, tightening his grip just slightly. “I think you would be his most likely target.”

“Maybe,” Jon admits. He’s witnessed firsthand how vindictive Peter can be. “But I would rather take that risk than have you torture yourself on the off chance he’ll let me be. And… I think we’ll all be safer if we cooperate as a group rather than stay divided.”

“I guess. I’m not sure how to go about it, though.”

“Well,” Georgie says thoughtfully, “it depends on whether you want to quit all at once or ease into it.”

“I don’t know.” Martin looks to Jon again. “If I continue to work for him in some capacity, would it give us an advantage?”

At this point, they know more about the Extinction than Peter does, and Jon has a decent grasp on Peter’s goals and how he operates. So…

“I… don’t think there’s anything to be gained if you keep working closely with him, no,” Jon replies. “And anyway, I – I would rather that not be the deciding factor? It’s your decision, of course, it’s just – your wellbeing is more important.”

“Hypocrite,” Martin mutters, but there’s a tinge of endearment there.

“I know,” Jon sighs. “I’m working on it. But to the point, I worry that working closely with him might drag you back into the Lonely.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m also worried about you confronting him directly to resign. Especially on your own.”

Peter is patient. Moreover, he enjoys a long game. If he sees Martin’s change of heart as a surmountable obstacle, Peter is likely to take a step back and wait for another opening to regain the upper hand. If, on the other hand, he decides that Martin is a lost cause… well, Peter is a sore loser. There’s every chance that he could drop Martin into the Lonely out of spite again.

“Either way,” Jon says, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone with him. Sooner or later, he’ll realize that the Lonely’s starting to lose its hold on you.”

Unthinkingly, Jon tightens his grip on Martin’s hand.

“It’s been slipping for a while now,” Martin says quietly. “I think he’s already noticed.”

“In that case… there’s no telling how he’ll react if he decides your allegiance to the Lonely is too tenuous to salvage.”

“Do you – or…” Georgie appears to grapple with wording for a few seconds. “Can you Know what Peter knows?”

“No,” Jon says. The last time he tried to Know something about Peter, not only did it yield nothing of value, it nearly incapacitated Jon – and he didn’t recover until he gave in and fed on a new victim. He can’t afford to repeat the experience. Daisy’s supply of statements is finite; Jon needs to ration them as much as possible. “I do know that Peter can’t spy from a distance, but that doesn’t mean he can’t just turn invisible to eavesdrop. Or that Elias won’t feed him information.”

“Let’s focus on the immediate question, then,” Georgie says. “Do you want to go upstairs and walk into your office two hours late with bedhead” – Martin runs a self-conscious hand through his hair, eliciting an affectionate smile from Jon – “or do you want to no-call/no-show?”

“Well… Peter isn’t actually around much,” Martin says. “Sometimes days go by before he checks in. He might not realize I’m not in my office yet. Maybe I can just – go about my normal routine for now?” He glances at Jon, almost beseeching. “At least until I have an idea of how much he knows?”

Like everyone who has worked in the Archives, Martin has developed a harder edge over the years. Early in his tenure, he seemed unassuming on first impression. He was by no means a pushover, but he was eager to please and preferred to avoid unnecessary confrontation. It made him an all-too-easy target for Jon’s insecurity-fueled ire.

But rather than roll over in the face of criticism, Martin has always been determined to prove his detractors wrong. Whether it’s risking his life for the sake of doing his due diligence – Jon cringes at the memory – or stubbornly caring for people who deemed him incompetent and didn’t appreciate his attentions, Martin is tenacious. It would be admirable – and it is, to an extent – but all too often it leads to self-neglect, bordering on self-harm.

And right now, despite the thicker skin that Martin has been forced to grow through necessity and loss, his demeanor when he looks at Jon is vaguely reminiscent of those early days in the Archives: cowed, cautious, desperate for approval and dreading reproach. With a pang of old guilt and a desire to soothe, Jon forces a smile and kneads the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb.

“I trust you,” Jon says, “and I know you’re more than capable. Just – when the fog starts to creep up on you, try to remember that there are people who care about you. You’re not a burden; you’re not – unseen, unwanted, undeserving, or – or whatever other lies the Lonely wants to tell you. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

“Right,” Martin says in a breathless whisper. He gives Jon’s hand another squeeze before letting go. “I guess I, uh – I guess should head upstairs.”

“Text or call if you need a reminder,” Jon blurts out as Martin turns to leave. “S-sorry, I don’t mean to – to hover, it’s just… sometimes it helps.”

In Scotland, once Jon was too hungry to safely visit the village, Martin had to go on supply runs alone. Although he had largely left the Lonely behind, it still lurked in the background, waiting for quiet moments in which it could seep back in through the cracks it left behind. It was opportunistic and insidious, passive until it wasn’t, and it could strike unpredictably. And so, he and Jon would check in with one another frequently whenever Martin had to go into town.

In many ways it was an exercise in codependence, but they were doing their best, considering their particular circumstances.

“Thanks,” Martin says, splotches of pink staining his face again. “I – I will.”

“There’s no service in the tunnels,” Georgie reminds them. “Just in case you were planning on going down there today, Jon. Martin, do you have the rest of our numbers?”

“I have Basira’s. And Melanie’s.”

“Give me your phone. I’ll add my number. And Daisy’s.” Martin makes a face at that, but hands his phone over. “If Jon doesn’t answer, text one of the rest of us. We can make sure to always keep someone up here and reachable, just in case.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Martin says stiffly. “I don’t need my hand held every second of the day.”

“No, but you might need your hand held at any second during the day,” Georgie says, entirely unfazed by the shift in attitude, “and there's no shame in that. Sometimes a bad time sneaks up on you. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“I’ve always taken care of myself. I can handle a few hours alone.”

“I’m sure you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to.” Martin looks ready to object, but Georgie cuts him off. “You’re not going to win this argument; I’ve already heard it all before. I’ve known this one” – she jerks her thumb in Jon’s direction – “for years, and you have near-identical hangups about being an inconvenience or whatever.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters.

“Yeah, this is directed at both of you. People want to help you. The world won’t end if you let yourself accept it without berating yourself in the process.” Georgie looks between the two of them as she hands Martin’s phone back, and then chuckles. “Huh. You two have damn-near-identical scowls, too, by the way.”

Simultaneously, Jon and Martin both roll their eyes.

Compared to the last time Jon saw her, Melanie looks… well, better. The wild, furious look in her eyes has subsided and the bags underneath are no longer quite so heavy. Her posture doesn’t look relaxed, exactly, but she doesn’t seem nearly as overwrought. She's still clearly weighed down by ambient tension, but she always has been – and the Archives have a way of making even the most well-adjusted person feel on edge.

She pauses at the bottom of the ladder, watching Jon with an air of distrust and uncertainty. Then Georgie takes her hand and a little more of that stiffness bleeds out of her. She allows Georgie to lead her over to the circle of chairs where Jon waits, and mirrors Georgie when she sits.

The ensuing silence is thoroughly unsettling. When it becomes clear that Georgie isn’t going to break the ice for them, and Melanie likewise keeps her silence, Jon reluctantly takes the initiative.

“Hi,” he says eloquently. He starts to give a little wave, but doesn’t fully commit to the motion, instead allowing his hand to hang awkwardly in the air for a few seconds before lowering his arm again, self-conscious.

“Hey,” Melanie replies – guarded, somewhat flat, but without any outright hostility.

Melanie scuffs one foot against the ground. Jon bounces his leg, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at the floor. Neither of them speak.

“So…” Georgie says after a minute, drawing out the vowel. “Do you two want me to, uh… I can leave, if you’d prefer to have this discussion in private?”

“Stay,” Melanie says abruptly, seeking out Georgie’s hand again. Georgie looks at Jon, a question in her eyes.

“I don’t mind. You can stay, Georgie.”

“If you’re sure,” Georgie says. “Just – let me know if that changes, I suppose.”

More silence. When Jon can’t take it anymore, he blurts out: “H-how have you been?”

“Well,” Melanie says sardonically, “I’m essentially trapped in an eldritch fear prison, doing the bidding of an evil voyeur-god, and apparently the only way out of its unfathomable contract is to gouge my eyes out.”

“Right,” Jon says with a hollow laugh. “Stupid question.”

“How are you?” Melanie asks with mock cheeriness.

“Same as you, really. Well. Except for the eye-gouging clause.”

“What, don’t have the stomach for it?”

“No, uh – it… it just won’t work for me, is all.” Staring down at his lap, Jon occupies himself with tracing circles onto one knee with his fingernail. “The Beholding isn’t keen on losing its Archivist.”

“It didn’t mind losing Gertrude.”

“Gertrude… wasn’t as far gone as I am,” Jon says quietly. “She never fully embraced the power the Eye offered. Not to the extent that I did. Blinding herself would have released her from the Eye’s service. She planned on it, actually, but Elias got to her first. And she was still human enough for a gunshot to kill her.”

And wasn’t that a release, in a way? Is it morbid for Jon to envy the fact that Gertrude even had that option available to her?

“Right,” is all Melanie says. She sounds dubious.

“I’m not just speculating a worst-case scenario to give myself an excuse not to go through with it.” Jon can feel himself bristling now. “I know it won’t work. I’ve tried. Multiple times. It hurts like hell, and then I heal. All I got out of it was an onset of chronic cluster headaches – though, who knows,” he adds acidly, “that may have just been the side effect of becoming a linchpin of the apocalypse and having all the world’s terror crammed into my head. I didn’t bother Knowing. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Jon,” Georgie says gently – and all the fight goes out of him, shoulders slumping.

“Sorry,” he sighs. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“I wasn’t scolding you. It’s just – you’re scratching.”

Oh. Jon looks down to see long, angry red scratches on his forearms, already fading now.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Didn’t notice.”

“It’s alright.”

Another awkward pause, until Melanie breaks the silence.

“Are you sure blinding will work for the rest of us?” she asks. She no longer sounds suspicious. Simply… curious: reminiscent of how things used to be, back when she was an avid investigator, beholden only to herself.

“Yes.”

“Did I…? Last time?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Jon waits until Melanie gives a firm nod before he answers the question. “You did.”

“And it worked.”

“It worked.”

Melanie nods again. She’s clenching her teeth, if the subtle movements in her jaw are any indication. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly – and her shoulders relax. By the time she’s opened her eyes, there’s the hint of a smile on her face.

“Good,” she says, equal parts relief and determination.

“S-so, do you think you’ll –” Jon stops himself, shaking his head. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

Melanie simply shrugs. “I haven’t made a decision yet. Let’s just say I’m strongly considering it.”

Georgie’s hand tightens on Melanie’s, worry lining her face.

“Tell me what happened last time?” Melanie says. “I’d like to hear the whole story.”

Jon takes a deep breath, rubbing his arms as he orders his thoughts.

“Last time, I didn’t know about the bullet until after I woke up,” he begins. “I, ah, only saw you briefly – you were, um… you were convinced that I wasn’t me anymore. Didn’t want me anywhere near you.”

Thought I should have been the one to die, he doesn’t add. Most days, Jon couldn’t find fault in that assessment. He didn’t want to die – most of the time, anyway – but if he could have traded his life for Tim’s… well, it wouldn’t have been a difficult decision.

“So how did you find out about it, then?”

“I just… Knew it, all of a sudden.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melanie narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“It’s an Archivist thing. I mean, you're probably already aware – I just… Know things, sometimes, even without compelling anyone. It started before the Unknowing, but it wasn’t as noticeable. Or as often. And it was typically more vague impressions, rather than specific truths. It got worse after I woke up from the coma. More frequent, more detailed, more – intrusive.”

“Fantastic,” Melanie says sourly.

“Yes, I’m not thrilled about it either. Sometimes I can Know things by choice, but the Beholding has a tendency to withhold answers to the questions I actually ask. Mostly it just airdrops information on me unsolicited. Often without me even wondering about a thing. Just… apropos of nothing. I did have much more control over it after the world ended, but, well…” He shrugs, awkward. “Not anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Melanie repeats.

“Last time, I had – still have, I suppose – a tendency to Know things about specific people. Things they wouldn’t normally share with me. I still remember things I Knew back then. Including some things about you.”

The color rises in Melanie’s cheeks. “That’s –”

“An invasion of privacy, I know,” he says, contrite. “I really will try to avoid it, just… sometimes things slip through the cracks when I’m not paying attention.”

“So, what, you can read minds?” Melanie says, an accusation threaded through the question. “Like Elias?”

Jon visibly recoils.

“Melanie,” Georgie begins, but Jon cuts her off.

“No, it’s – it’s a fair question. Elias’ powers come from the same source mine do.” He pauses, nervously flexing his fingers as he composes an explanation. “I can’t see your thoughts verbatim. It’s just… Knowing things. It’s the same with Elias. Sometimes it seems like he can read minds, b-but that’s – that’s just because he’s very – very good at reading people –”

“– finding you when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable. And when you’re at that point it’s astounding what can crawl into your heart and start to fester there –“

Jon bites his tongue, applying pressure until the Archive stops its clamoring. Melanie raises her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“Sorry. Sometimes it just slips out, and…” He laughs and massages his temples. “Well. Still an Archive, in the end.”

His voice cracks and Georgie’s already-concerned expression grows more serious.

“Jon –”

“I’m fine, Georgie,” Jon says, more curtly than intended. “Sorry. I just – I can’t go there right now.”

“We can take a break if you need,” she says.

“No, I… let’s just continue.” He nods at Melanie. “You have more questions.”

Melanie gnaws on the inside of her cheek for a moment, mulling over her words.

“Can you do that…” She wiggles her fingers vaguely. “That thing where you put thoughts in people’s heads?”

“No. Not – not really.”

Not anymore, he corrects privately. During the apocalypse, he was able to make others See and feel things, but… only because he could call upon the Ceaseless Watcher to turn its gaze upon them. Here in the past, the Beholding and all the other Fears remain cloistered behind their door, leeching through the cracks but unable to fully manifest in the world.

“But I, um…” Jon pauses, wetting his lips nervously. “In addition to compelling people to tell me things, sometimes I can compel people to… to do things. Nothing – nothing complex. Simple commands, mostly. ‘Stop,’ ‘leave,’ ‘look,’ ‘don’t look,’ that sort of thing. I haven’t done it often, but the times I have… with a few exceptions, it’s usually been accidental. A sort of – knee-jerk defense mechanism of sorts.”

“Hmm.” Melanie crosses her arms, tapping her foot on the ground.

“I realize that reflects poorly on me.” He swallows, mouth going dry. “It’s… a terrifying prospect, being near someone who can do something like that, and doesn’t have full control over it.”

Jon knows – and Knows via billions of proxies – what it’s like to have something other supplant his will and commandeer his body. Melanie deserves to know the risks of standing too close to him.

“I promise I’ll try to keep it under control, I just – wanted you to be aware of it. I won’t blame you if you’d rather not be around me.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Melanie says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not,” Jon says flatly. “Compelling answers and – and subsisting on a diet of fear has always been more than enough to justify people keeping their distance. Adding more sinister bullshit on top of the pile doesn’t exactly do me credit. I know – Know how people see me.” He laughs, a harsh and humorless thing. “I can’t not Know.”

People tend to naturally give him a wide berth, as if they can sense that there’s something wrong about him, even if they can’t quite discern why. If he’s too careless, if he locks eyes with the wrong person, sometimes they can’t look away – and sometimes he can’t, either, and he’s forced to watch as the terror dawns in their eyes. Just like the nightmares, bleeding into his waking life.

Jon can feel when people are afraid; the Archivist in him relishes it, gravitates towards it like a flower turning to face the sun, soaks it in regardless of whether or not he wants it. And there is always a part of him that does want it, that always wants more – and isn’t that fitting, taking a page from the book of his very first monster? He is, quite literally, a thing of nightmares. Helen is right: he is what he is, and there’s no use denying it.

He’s always been hypersensitive to how other people perceive him. Being able to Know how people really feel about him has historically tended to confirm his customary hostile attribution bias. Vicariously feeling the reality of others’ hatred and fear of him, passively basking in it, being forced to derive sustenance from it – god, it’s like cannibalizing his own vicious self-loathing, a sustainable resource that can be recycled ad infinitum. It takes self-flagellation to a new and perverse extreme.

“I Know when people don’t want to be near me,” he says, unable to suppress the bitterness in his tone. “When someone nearby is afraid, I feel it – as natural as sensing the temperature in a room. I feed on it. It’s an automatic process. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not bask in the knowledge of how much the other people in the room can’t stand breathing the same air as me, if I can avoid it.”

“Jon,” Georgie tries again, “I know how things used to be, but –”

“It’s different now, I know. But the Eye tends to prioritize – well, unpleasant impressions. I know it’s only giving me one side of the story. That there’s more, even if I can’t See it. But fear is loud. Doesn’t leave room for mindfulness.”

Georgie has a reply ready, but Melanie speaks first.

“Okay. I get it.” At Jon’s blank expression, Melanie heaves a sigh – aggravated, but not hostile. “It’s like how anger was for me, okay? Rage has a way of drowning out everything else. Reliable, when nothing else can be trusted. Makes things clearer, simpler. Made me feel more… alive, real.” She hesitates, crossing her arms and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Nourishing. Sort of. I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, picking aimlessly at his sleeve.

“I’ll just avoid being in the same room as you when I’m… having a day,” she continues. Jon nods. “Or you can just tell me to go away if I’m – I don’t know, giving off rancid vibes, or whatever.”

Jon breathes a surprised, amused huff. “Well. Same goes for you, I suppose.”

He’s even more shocked to see a grin twitch to life on Melanie’s face – very small, but present all the same. Then, appearing to take pity on him, she changes the subject.

“So, you Knew about the bullet.”

“Yes,” Jon says, grateful for the opportunity to move on. “But not until a couple weeks after I got out of the hospital. Didn’t even realize I Knew it until I said it aloud.”

“Meaning it had more time to poison me, where you’re from. Was I… worse?”

“Well, the first time I saw you after I came back, you attacked me on sight, so… maybe? But I don’t really have a point of comparison. That was the only time I saw you up until we removed it, so I don’t know how much you deteriorated in the interim. And this time, I only saw you after the bullet had already been removed.”

“I attacked you?” She doesn’t sound surprised, really. More… intrigued.

“In your defense, you didn’t think I was me anymore. Tim died, Daisy was presumed dead, and I was still alive.” He knows that, of the three of them, Melanie wouldn’t have picked Jon to be the survivor. I hope it hurts, she’d said in her testament. Instead, he slept for six months and then woke up wrong. “You were angry, and afraid, and you had a bullet in your leg making it worse. You needed someone to blame, and Elias was beyond your reach.”

So I was the next best thing, he doesn’t say. Bitterness aside, Jon can’t say he blames her.

Melanie narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Then how the hell did you convince me to have it removed?”

“We, uh… we didn’t. I told Basira first. She – didn’t think you would have agreed. So, we…” Jon forces himself to meet Melanie’s eyes as he gives the confession. “We performed some amateur surgery. Without your consent. Basira procured some local anesthetic, and the Eye let me See where the bullet was, how to remove it with… minimal damage. You were using some rather strong sleep aids, at the time, so you slept through most of it. You only woke up once the bullet was out. And you, uh, promptly stabbed me with the scalpel, though I – I probably deserved that.”

“What the fuck, Jon.”

“I – I know, I know. I’m – well, it might be – odd, to apologize for something that never happened from your perspective? But I am sorry. It wasn’t right, for us to do it that way. We should have asked you.”

“I might not have agreed.” Her voice is tightly controlled, but there’s still a quiet sort of fury simmering just under the words.

“No, uh – probably not. You said later that the anger was always there. Motivating you to keep going. Helping you survive. The Slaughter validated that rage. Made it feel like home.” Melanie stares, unblinking. “You told me the bullet stayed because you wanted it, and… we took that choice from you, decided what was in your best interests without asking you how you felt about it.”

Melanie is quiet for a few more moments, glaring at the floor, before her eyes flick back up to meet Jon's. “What would have happened if you didn’t get it out of me?”

“I can’t say for certain, but it’s likely that you would have become a Slaughter Avatar. Reached a point of no return.”

She scoffs. “So it was worth it, in the end?”

“I don’t know. I want to say yes. You saw me as a monster, and I doubt you would have wanted to become like me. Something inhuman, feeding on suffering. But…”

“But?”

“It’s easy to look at how things ultimately worked out for you and use that outcome to justify what we did,” he says, “but I – I’m not fond of the idea that the ends justify the means. I didn’t know at the time that you and Georgie were this close. If I did, maybe I could have asked her to talk to you, except…”

“We weren’t speaking,” Georgie says.

“Yeah. I – honestly don’t know what else we could have done, but… still, the way we went about it was wrong. You were trapped here like the rest of us, and we… we stole the only thing that gave you some semblance of control. What we did was a violation of your autonomy. I know that feeling, I know how it feels to…” Jon shakes his head. “We saved your life, or – your humanity, at least, but in doing so we took away your choice. Subjected you to more trauma, made it so you couldn’t feel safe anywhere. Eventually you quit, and you and Georgie seemed happy together after that, but the fact that you were able to start healing – that doesn’t change the fact that we hurt you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

“This place,” Melanie says with a breathless laugh.

“Yeah. It’s… not known for presenting benign choices. I’m, ah… I’m glad that this time, it was your own choice.”

“And what if I had still said no?”

“I probably would’ve given you the line about becoming a monster like me. I would have told you what happened last time – or, told Georgie and let her tell you, more likely, if only to avoid any, ah… stabbiness.” Melanie huffs, but it sounds amused rather than offended. “And if you still decided to choose the Slaughter after being fully informed… well, it wasn’t my place to take the choice away from you.”

“Even if I wasn’t in my right mind?” she asks.

“Even if you weren’t in your right mind.”

Melanie’s stare is piercing, scanning him for any signs of dishonesty. Eventually, she folds her arms and leads back in her chair with a hmm.

“What?” Jon asks, heart in his throat.

“Just – unexpected. Would’ve expected you to make a unilateral decision.”

Truthfully, Jon doesn’t trust himself to make those kinds of decisions. Last time, he’d let Basira call the shot. Not only did he trust her judgment more than his own – secretly, selfishly, he was relieved to abdicate at least some of the responsibility. He doubts that his conscience would have been able to carry the full burden of that choice.

Later, during the apocalypse, he had made an executive decision on someone else’s behalf: Jordan Kennedy. In that instance, there was no one with whom he could share the blame. Although it was intended as an act of mercy, Jon cannot deny that he created an unwilling Avatar – stripped a man of his humanity and reshaped him into something other, same as had been done to Jon.

The people in that domain would have continued to suffer just the same whether it was controlled by an Avatar or a hivemind of ants. At least this way, one person could be spared the torture. But it didn’t save anyone. It did not even end Jordan’s suffering, only transformed it into a different, hypothetically more endurable but still horrific shape – one that Jon knew all too intimately.

It was done with merciful intentions, and he may have given Jordan the choice to reverse it – a choice that Jon has never been given himself – but making that decision for Jordan in the first place… well, at the end of the day, Jon could never shake the feeling that he’d taken a page out of Jonah’s playbook. It wasn’t the same, but it felt… adjacent, too much so for comfort.

The choice has haunted Jon ever since. It eats away at him every time he sees Jordan in his nightmares, whenever Jordan watches him with the same dread that he does Jane Prentiss. Yet, Jon still cannot say for certain whether he would do anything differently, if faced with Jordan’s agonized pleading a second time.

But as for Melanie’s particular situation…

“I know what it’s like to have someone else decide on your destiny for you,” he says quietly.

Melanie looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“Look, I – I understand why you resent me. Elias used you to further the Archivist’s progress. Same as he used Tim, Sasha, and Martin, and Basira and Daisy, and Helen… even Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Jude Perry – and Jared, Manuela, Peter… everyone, everyone who crosses his path is either irrelevant or a stepping stone. Which means that everyone who crosses my path suffers.”

Stop, Jon tells himself, shutting his eyes tight against the first stirrings of panic lapping at the edges of his mind. It’s pathetic, he thinks, how easily he sinks into this headspace. Jon’s mutinous brain does all of Jonah’s work for him – like prodding at a recent wound, just to see if it still hurts, even knowing full well that it only sabotages the healing process. Stupid, pointless. Just stop dwelling on it.

He can’t.

“All of it – all of it was to create the Archive to his specifications –”

“– bound together – I would look at him, and see a grim sort of destiny for myself: trapped here, until I became him; any future I might have had, sacrificed to his –”

“– and I just – I don’t want people to look at me and – and see him. Or the Beholding –”

“– keeping its prisoners ignorant in pursuit of… knowledge –”

“– I've spent enough time being synonymous with the Eye. I don’t want it. I never wanted it, even if I did choose to – to keep looking for answers –”

“– idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing –”

“– I can’t reverse that, but I can still make it difficult for Elias to get any use out of me. But I’m sorry – I’m sorry that I let him do it for so long –”

“– any idiot could have seen it would play out that way –”

“– I’m sorry you got dragged into all this. I wish I could have gone back to the very beginning, back to the day I took the job, and – god, I thanked Elias for the opportunity, and he – he smiled, because he knew, he knew I would be easily manipulated, knew everything about me – knew all about –”

Thankfully, Georgie interrupts his heated muttering and brings that thought train to a jarring halt. Or – no, she's been saying his name, but he's only just now heard it.

“Jon,” she says, loudly but calmly. She's leaning forward in her seat, hand prepared to reach over to him. “You’re scratching again.”

So he is. Badly. As soon as he stops, the scratches along his forearms heal, leaving only drying blood behind: thin, messy streaks painted across his skin and caked under his fingernails. He should probably clip them shorter, at this rate.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling his sleeves down to hide his arms. “I’m just – sorry.”

“Change the subject?” Georgie offers, lowering her arm.

“I think that would be best,” Jon agrees, discomfited and more than a little annoyed with himself. Will he ever be able to spare a thought for Jonah Magnus without completely unraveling in the process? Hell, will he ever be able to go a day without sparing a single thought for Jonah Magnus at all? Okay, no, stop harping, he reprimands himself. “Just – give me a minute.”

Jon forces himself to take several breaths until he can no longer hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Once he regathers his composure, he meets Melanie’s eyes again.

“What I mean to say is – I owe you a lot of apologies, Melanie. I was dismissive of you when we first met, and it just sort of – snowballed from there.”

“It was mutual, I think,” Melanie says guardedly.

“Still, I was – unprofessional, at the very least. And unnecessarily cruel. It was my job to be impartial, but I didn’t have to be callous. Most of the statements that come in aren’t real, but they aren’t impossible, either. And even if a story was due to – substance use, or mental illness, or – or even just an overactive imagination… most people who came in still believed that their story was true. Their distress was genuine. They deserved comfort, not ridicule, regardless of whether or not their story actually happened the way they remembered. And beyond that, it was… poor research methodology, really, to refuse to entertain the possibility of a story’s veracity simply because of my first impression of a statement giver.” His voice grows quieter. “Or because of my own baggage.”

“Your own baggage?”

“I, ah…” Jon deliberates for a brief moment on whether to share this part of himself. It seems only fair, given the personal details he knows about the rest of them. And… telling Daisy had felt cathartic in its own way, hadn't it? “I had a supernatural experience of my own once. Before working at the Institute, I mean. I was a child, so of course it was chalked up to an overactive imagination. And then at some point I was too old to still be afraid of monsters.”

Jonathan, this has gotten out of hand, his grandmother had told him with hands on her hips, exasperated after once again finding every door and cupboard in the house thrown open. Ten is too old to be sleeping with the lights on and checking closets for monsters.

And with that, she had closed the closet doors, flicked the light off, and pulled his bedroom door shut on her way out. He had clung desperately to the hope that she would at least leave the hall light on – but moments later the thin strip of light filtering through the crack under the door was snuffed out. When he heard the click of his grandmother's bedroom door down the hall, he'd dissolved into tears. Turning his face into his pillow to muffle his sobs so as not to alert her to yet another of his childish meltdowns, he spent the rest of the night – and countless nights thereafter – sleeping in fitful stops and starts, plagued by phantom knocking and chitinous clicking and creaking doors. He knows now that such sounds were nothing more than hypnopompic hallucinations, the remnants of nightmares chasing him into wakefulness; knows that the web binding him in place and the hulking presence in the room were only symptoms of sleep paralysis; but at the time…

Jon shakes his head.

“The fear doesn’t go away just because people don’t believe it’s based in truth. So, I learned to hide it instead. To stop talking about it, even though I never stopped searching for an answer –”

“– was there when he was taken; he never got over what he saw. Or didn’t see. After much searching and despair, it drove him into the waiting arms of the Institute –”

“– damn,” he hisses, flustered.

“You okay?” Georgie asks.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Just – one moment.”

Pause, breathe, recollect. Listen to the quiet – which really shouldn’t be so difficult, should it? Aren’t archives supposed to be quiet? Why does this library have to be so horrifically noisy? – and breathe, breathe, breathe. Okay.

“What I’m saying is, I coped with it – poorly – with denial. I could never shake the conviction that what I saw was real, no matter how I tried to rationalize it. But I was still afraid that admitting belief in monsters would – draw their attention to me, somehow. Again. And because of that, I was… unsympathetic, to people who were genuinely afraid. The last thing they needed was derisive skepticism. Or projection. I know what it’s like to not be believed. I shouldn’t have put others through the same thing.”

“Huh.” Melanie looks him up and down. “That’s… unusually insightful for you.”

“I had a lot of time alone to obsess during the apocalypse,” Jon says drily. “Some of it even ended up being productive.” Melanie snorts; Jon gives a cautious smile. “I, ah, also should have tried harder to warn you away from India. Or the Institute in general.”

“And I would have told you to fuck off, because I already didn’t like you, and you would have been just one more in a long line of pompous men acting like they knew better than me.”

Jon laughs. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Look, we just – we both treated each other poorly. You were the easiest target to take my anger out on. Martin’s too nice, Basira was basically a hostage, Daisy is Daisy, and Tim… Tim wasn’t around much, and anyway, he would have thrown whatever I gave him right back in my face. You were a prick, but I think I blamed you more than was fair. And I guess… you were – are – trapped as much as the rest of us. So. I’m sorry too.”

“Well, it’s not like I tried to make a good first impression.”

“Neither did I.” She glowers at him, daring him to challenge her. “Accept the apology or don’t, but don’t throw it back in my face.”

“Fine,” Jon sighs. “I accept the apology.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

“Excruciating,” he deadpans.

Georgie snorts. Melanie and Jon both look at her with a combined, “What?”

“Just… watching the two of you. I think I may have a type.”

Another simultaneous, “What?”

“Curious, stubborn, temperamental, cute, short…”

“H-hey,” Melanie protests, “I’m at least a few centimeters taller than he is –”

“One-point-eight, actually,” Jon mutters under his breath – and then cracks a smile, encouraged by Georgie’s bright, surprised laugh. Melanie just glares at him.

“You know,” Melanie says, “you make it very hard to like you sometimes.”

“Sorry.” He’s not sorry at all. Shooting Georgie an indignant glance, he adds: “Also, I’m not cute.”

“I’m sure Martin would beg to differ,” Georgie teases. Jon sighs, arms crossed and face uncomfortably warm. “Well, anyway…” Georgie grins, looking between the two of them. “Does this mean… truce?”

Melanie gives Jon another long, searching look, and Jon forces himself to meet her eyes.

“Yeah, alright,” she says after a moment, then looks down, bouncing her heel against the floor. “Seems the only one who isn’t trapped and miserable is Elias. And you’re not him. Or working with him. So.” She shrugs one shoulder. “That just makes you one of us. I guess.” When Jon doesn’t reply, she glances back up at him. “What’s that face for?”

“That, uh…” Speechless, Jon roots around for something substantial to say. Instead, one corner of his mouth quirks up as he says, with tentative daring: “That might just be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, is all.”

“Yeah, well…” Melanie scoffs, but there’s a hint of amusement in it now. “I’m still going to call you out when you’re being a dick, mind.”

“A public service, really,” Jon says, wry and more than a little elated.

An invitation to playful bickering as opposed to scathing antagonism is, as far as he and Melanie are concerned, an undeniable olive branch.

End Notes:

Jon: my type is Aggressively Idealistic Existentialists Who Give Amazing Hugs, apparently Georgie: and my type is Short Nerds With Strong Feelings About Basically Everything ~*mlm/wlw solidarity*~ But seriously though,,, I love the idea of Georgie and Martin meeting the End and the Vast, respectively, and basically going "hey why don't you read some Camus and maybe you'll calm down???" I may or may not be projecting. I need them and Oliver to have a philosophy book club. Actually everyone else can come too. Basira strikes me as the type to have some Strong Opinions about Certain Philosophers and yes sure that dude may have died ages ago and maybe she shouldn't take it so personally but if she found a Leitner that let her temporarily resurrect him for an hour she might just do so if only for the opportunity to debate his pompous ass in a Tesco parking lot. (I, once again, may or may not be projecting. I was a philosophy minor and I WILL pepper in the fact that I hate Kant. You cannot hold this against me.)

____

Citations for Jon's Archive-speak are as follows, in order of appearance: MAG 094; 153; 144/101/111/014; 101.

Martin's "I think our experience of the universe has value, even if it disappears forever" quote is from MAG 151 and yes it IS one of my all time favorite Martin quotes, how could you tell

Disclaimer re: how Jon talks about his ace identity: I'm ace & projecting a bit, like I do with Jon's ADHD/neurodivergence. The way I describe ace stuff is not meant to be reflective of all ace-spec people's experiences.

would you believe me if I said the whole 'deservedness' spiel was written before the latest episode??? bc it was and then I read the newest ep transcript and I was like "oh"

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, btw. funny story: I accidentally let the prescription for my ADHD meds expire and I had to go like four days without them before I could go get another paper script bc it's one they can't submit electronically or call in, soooo I got fuck-all done for half of that week and it broke my writing flow :0 hoping to get back into my usual flow from here on out and manage to have the next chapter ready in 2ish weeks, but we shall see. Thanks for sticking with me <3 (I might start shortening chapters again, the last few have been 10k+ compared to the earlier 6-8k and I could probably stand to split them up a bit.)

Speaking of the next chapter - yes, I AM planning on moving the plot forward I swear. I realize the last few chapters have basically taken place within a single week and have been mostly People Talking About Things, RIP.

And as always, thank you for reading, and for all your comments! <3 They're basically 50% of my regular serotonin intake. The other 50% is my cat's motorboat purring.

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ironwoman359 · 6 years ago

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Thoughts on Remus Sanders

So the new video came out and I have a lot of thoughts on a lot of different things, but for this post, let’s talk about our new resident trash man, Remus Sanders, aka The Duke, aka the Dark Side of Creativity.

Remus’s Role (who or what is he?)

First off, Remus’s ‘Side Title’ as it were is definitely Creativity. He is not simply “Intrusive Thoughts.” That is not his function, intrusive thoughts are a result of his function, an area of thinking that he is responsible for. Like Roman, he embodies Creativity and the Imagination, but unlike Roman, he deals almost exclusively in ‘dirty,’ mature, dark, or disturbing ideas. Sure, the video was about intrusive thoughts specifically, but that’s not all that Remus does. He said himself twice, once in song and once in regular speaking, that he wants Thomas to explore more mature themes in his videos and to be more “realistic” with his creations. So while the other “dark sides” like Deceit and Anxiety (maybe Paranoia?) have different functions than the “light sides,” Remus and Roman are two sides that embody the same trait: Creativity.

As Thomas said, the Duke and the Prince literally wear black and white, because his relationship with his imagination while he was growing up led to Roman encompassing the “good” parts and Remus the “bad” parts. Both ‘sides’ of creativity are important over all, but Thomas specifically gave Roman, the light, the positive sunshine rainbow unicorn side, more import than the dark, the twisted macabre disturbing side. Hence Roman is a Prince, while Remus is merely a Duke, a lesser rank of nobility.

Remus’s Goals (so what does he want?)

Like Roman, Remus wants Thomas to create things, things that he can be proud of. And more SPECIFICALLY, he wants Thomas to be remembered, to have a legacy. Roman, you will note, wants this too. All sides, after all, want what they believe is best for Thomas, but they all have different views of what that looks like AND of how to get it. And Remus believes that the darker sides of creativity that he encompasses are the way for Thomas to get that notoriety he craves. Just look at the way Remus talks (or sings) about himself in relationship to Thomas’s content:

“If you really wanna challenge your viewership, then you need to stop limiting me.”

“If you want the spectrum A-Z you’ll need a little help from me.”

(in reference to Thomas only wanting bright and happy things in his content) ”Hey Prude, your art is Bad.”

“What will our legacy be? Will you even have one? How about this: you get buck naked on camera and self immolate to Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off! That’ll leave an impression!”

Remus wants what ever creator/performer wants: he wants to be remembered. But unlike Roman, he holds no reservations about how they get there.

But Remus ALSO a rather chaotic force in general, and you get the feeling that he really just wants to have fun...unfortunately, what’s fun for him is not very fun for most people, Thomas included. Remus is more like the way many of us characterized Deceit at his first introduction: likely to be cruel for no reason. Because it’s fun! Right?!

Roman vs. Remus...why?

I have a headcanon that Patton (or Patton’s influence) is largely responsible for the development of Remus and Roman as separate entities, actually. During their conversation about Just Like Heaven, Patton mentioned that a happy ending “makes good cinema.” And...no, it doesn’t. Objectively, good cinema, good ART is not dependent on whether or not it is happy. Now, whether or not it is happy is certainly a valid indicator of whether or not YOU as an individual like it. But not it’s objective quality. And that’s what has happened with Roman and Remus, anything that Thomas’s Moral Code (again, Patton himself or his general influence) deemed as “bad” or “wrong” got shoved into Remus, while Roman kept all the good parts for himself.

When you look at it that way, it’s no wonder that Remus spends so much of his time sending intrusive thought’s Thomas’s way. (Yes, intrusive thoughts are fairly common, but not everyone has them, and not always to the severity that Character Thomas does) That’s basically his ONLY creative outlet, as everything else has been given to Roman. And why it makes sense that he is desperate to be more involved in Thomas’s creative process. Intrusive thoughts are all fine and well, but if Thomas isn’t ACTING on them, then Remus is effectively not being listened to, which as we all know is every single side’s greatest source of frustration.

His Logo (this is a pure guess based on my own theories and observation, but it’s fun to think about.)

It’s been theorized before that the “dark sides” have something animal themed in their clothing and/or appearances. Deceit’s is obvious the two headed snake, and Virgil’s is largely thought to be a raccoon, and if we look closely, Remus seems to fit this theory. His animal is some sort of tentacled sea creature, as evidenced by the thumbnail of the video, his green coloring, and the belt buckle he wears. Some have suggested a squid or octopus, but this IS Creativity we’re talking about here...it could be Something Else. Something a little more...creative.

“Whoa, you guys are acting fishier than the Kraken’s crack.” -Roman, timestamp 3:43.

I propose that his ‘animal’ is a Kraken, a giant sea monster known for causing great destruction, killing sailors and dragging ships down into the depths of the sea. Sort of like how our Dear Old Duke seems to take pleasure in being destructive towards both himself and others and dragging Thomas’s thoughts down into the depths of depravity? Huh? Maybe? Imagine a logo similar to Roman’s, but instead of an idyllic castle, it’s a giant sea monster. Perhaps reaching it’s tentacles around a ship? Or perhaps looking a little sleeker and going for something like the Hydra logo in Marvel? I dunno, it’s fun to think about!

The Rainbow Theory (no, I’m never gonna let this one go)

Remus’s existence, and more specifically, his color palate, only reinforce the Rainbow Theory as being canon. Thomas is Full Rainbow all the time, and each of his sides encompasses one color on that spectrum. You have Red (Roman), Orange (a yet to be discovered “dark side”), Yellow (Deceit), Green (Remus), Blue (Patton), Indigo (Logan), and Violet (Virgil).

One of the reasons I really like the rainbow theory is that it allows for a sense of balance between Thomas and his sides. I like to imagine it like this: There are three “light” or “good” sides, (Roman, Logan, and Patton) and three “dark” or “bad” sides (Deceit, the Duke/Remus, and an unnamed, Orange party). I use quotes on these labels because arguably, any trait could be used for good or for bad, and no side embodies this more than Virgil. Violet, the odd little shadowling out. The side that is now canonically CONFIRMED to have once been considered one of “the Others,” but who now has an equal seat at the discussion table. The side, if you will, that is the tipping point on the scale between whether or not Thomas is a “good person?” Ah, but that’s a theory for another post ;)

If you combine the rainbow theory with a color wheel, Remus’s appearance also all but confirms some theories that we’ve had about “dark” sides in the past: they are opposites to/extensions of/foils for a corresponding “light” side. It’s no secret who Remus’s corresponding side is, both he AND Roman are literally both creativity. And what is Red’s complimentary color on the color wheel?

Green.

While it’s harder to tell who Deceit’s foil is, since the blue/indigo and the yellow/orange parts of most color wheels you look at are more blurred, but I’m leaning towards Logan, the darker blue, the indigo, being the foil to Deceit’s Yellow, and Patton’s lighter blue being complimentary with the Orange Side yet to be revealed, since the light blue is closer to the green and the orange is closer to the red.

This also solidifies the idea that I have that Virgil himself has no foil. I see some people suggest he could be Logan’s foil, but I honestly think that Logan’s foil is either Deceit or Mr. Orange, and the Patton’s is whoever Logan’s isn’t. Virgil’s trait doesn’t necessarily have a perfect foil...and purple in particular has no opposite color that isn’t already sort of taken by one of the other three “light” colors. But I digress, this post is about Remus, not Virgil. I just like talking about the rainbow theory, I think it’s neat!

Other, smaller observations (mostly just fun things I noticed/liked about his character)

As much as they are opposites in ways, Remus shares many mannerisms with Roman, from his expressions to his vocal ticks to his gestures.

Literally less than a minute after he first appeared on screen, he broke out into an entire Disney Villain style musical number. (no really, he appeared at 6:00 and started singing at 6:53)

I sort of mentioned this earlier, but he is not only responsible for the darker parts of imagination, but also clearly things like childish potty humor and sexual innuendo. For THOMAS, this is a “bad” thing banished to it’s own separate side, but for some people, that kind of humor doesn’t cross the line. Joan, for instance, has both a raunchier sense of humor and darker sense of humor at times than Thomas, as holding up a disembodied corpse prop’s middle finger is, yeah, TOTALLY something they would do without Remus’s influence.

He cannot be insulted through traditional means, as he takes them as compliments. It is only through him being discredited/weakened by Logan’s words that we see him having any sort of negative reaction to the others.

Again, a point to get more into detail with another post, but he was particularly interested in beating down Virgil specifically, and in ways that seemed less relevant to what was going on like his taunts to the others. Just like with Deceit in the courtroom, he clearly knows Virgil well enough to get under his skin, and he relishes doing so.

The trash boi does not sit still, if he’s not engaged by what’s happening, he’ll find some other thing to occupy himself with, such as picking his nose or eating deodorant.

Like Deceit before him, he gets huffy when he doesn’t have his way, and then does his best to just be a general inconvenience (read also: a dick) to Thomas if he can’t be actually listened to.

That’s all for now! Thanks for reading <3

#sanders sides #sanders sides theories #ts theories #fanders #thomas sanders #remus sanders #ts remus #dealing with intrusive thoughts #long post #longpost #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #the rainbow theory #ts spoilers

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breakingbadfics · 4 years ago

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Death of the author

CW: Light discussion of politics, mentions of the Alt-Right, and White Supremacists.

Consider this a “Change of Pace” entry. I’m trying to figure out what the next essay is to be about as well as the eventual long term for this blog.

I wrote this essay back in mid 2019, long before the idea of this blog would come to mind, it’s been lightly edited prior to posting and added to. and I think this essay shows some of my influences much more heavily than my other writings.

What does My Little Pony and The Matrix have in common? Death of the Author.

Death of the Author is not to be confused with “Separating the Artist from the Art,” a self explanatory concept to distance a work from a creator who’s beliefs are more than a little unpleasant, easiest example is acknowledging that, yes, H.P. Lovecraft was a Mega-racist, however, his contributions to the horror genre have created a base that is nearly ubiquitous with the genre to this day, like wise with Orson Scott Card. this concept in itself is an especially controversial subject, but is not the focus of this piece.

Death of the Author is what allowed The Matrix, a movie with a collection of metaphors about being an lgbt person, and an activist for the rights of yourself and your allies to be grossly misinterpreted as a way to justify being a bigot, the most egregious misinterpretation being that of “The Red Pill Scene.”

In the context of the film, The Red Pill Scene is the part of the traditional heroes story where the hero “accepts the call”, Neo is quite literally making the choice to leave the safe world he’s been living in behind and embark on his adventure that will result in a death and rebirth into being The One who will save humanity. In the now very much understood to be the direct metaphor, it’s a scene in which Neo, the stand-in for a lgbt person, specifically a trans person, is being told by a much older lgbt person “You are trans, you have the choice to embrace it, but regardless of what choice you make from here on out the road ahead is going to be bumpy and rough on you, because the system around you is designed to make sure people like us aren’t able to prosper, and if you join us, you won’t be able to opt out.”

That is the very understood metaphor that most people accept with the modern understanding after The Wachowski’s came out as Lily and Lana in the “post-matrix trilogy” reality of the real world.

However due to the Moral Neutrality of Death of the Author in other circles the Red Pill(and all the other metaphors in the film) takes on an alternative meaning. And I can be “polite” in my explaing the bad take on how this scene plays out, but just to hammer the point home we’ll get dirty so you can know where the take is coming from, The Red Pill Scene for White supremeacists, and The alt-right (but I repeat myself) is such. Neo, a disgruntled white person is being told that the world is controlled by soulless machines. Jews, people of color, etx. Everyone around him is mind controlled and can and will attempt to stop him from saving the people smart enough to also realise they’re being held captive by non-whites and save them all. This of course, all being told to him by Morpheus, a black man. So have fun working your head around that.

This of course the most extreme example being the most ubiquitous, poke around on chan sites and sooner or later you’ll see the phrase “red pill” having been memetically adjusted to mean “hey tell me about this thing” or even more specifically “I already had an opinion about this but either way I want you to confirm my choice.” But I digress.

These two interpretations are so wildly on the opposite ends of the spectrum that the only commonalities between them is “You will likely need to be violent at some point”

I’m naturally only covering the two interpretations, the matrix itself has been picked apart by an untold number of people and people interpret it in as many ways as possible in terms of philosophical meaning. That is the nature of Death of The Author.

Death of the Author also covers in a round-a-bout fashion, selective canon, a subjective acknowledgement of canon elements throughout a long lived franchise- see; Star Wars, Star Trek, the belief that there was never any sequels to The Matrix. This variant of the philosophy allows one to be able to continue interactions with a text, specifically a text that consists of multiple volumes (or contributions, each one made by an individual author) but also deny interactions with parts that they personally dislike.

More often than not, you can attribute the death of the author to a bad take in a case of fiction, another primary example being Fight Club, often missed for the scathing critique of unhealthy male behaviour and propped up as some sort of moral guideline for how to live your life. Which is again, not to say this is the fault of Death of The Author as a philosophy, it is morally neutral, these bad takes can more often be attribued to the simple fact that unless directly stating it most attempts at satire or parody will have a contingent of people who agree with what is said, not what is meant, and death of the author unfortunately does make that..very easy, for good, or ill.

Where does My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fit in with all this? Well there are certainly alt-right members of the brony fandom who are painfully missing the point, but we’ve already dwelled on the negative enough, so let’s get happy.

In Episode 1 of Season 1, the first part of a two part pilot, in the background of a shot during a party scene; a pony with a grey coat and blonde mane and tail is seen in the background. This particular pony stood out the most amongst other background characters due to a mistake caused by the animation staff. According to the supervising director at the time, this particular error was spotted after hasbro greenlit the episode for air, and because it amused him he chose not to order a correction so it was left in as a nice little easter egg.

The nameless background pony would eventually be caught by 4chan among other places and very rapidly developed a following of fans and given a nickname, Derpy Hooves. This particular following and new nickname would echo back to shows staff becoming the name internally referred to by the show’s staff.

Friendship is magic creator Lauren Faust, who also enjoyed the popularity of the character when asked in an interview would state that a character named Ditzy Doo existed in an unaired episode, that would be implied to be this particular background pony, So naturally now depending on the fan this particular character would be reffered to as either Derpy Hooves, or Ditzy Doo.

Ditzy Doo would go on to become a recurring easter egg with in the show, something similar to that of “where’s waldo” but with horses. This practice would continue until episode 14 of season 2 where the character would have a set of spoken lines and would be addressed by name. This however resulted in a degree of controversy in which some people expressed concern that the presentation of the character was an offensive attempt at portraying people with mental or physical disabilities. This event resulted in the episode being altered in future airings and the character disappearing from the show for the vast majority of Season 3. Beyond Season 3 the character would continue to appear until season 5 where they would finally have a voiced role in the 100th episode of the show, and then eventually having another speaking role in the christmas special “The best gift ever.” It is also worth noting that Hasbro never gave her an “official name” with almost all of Ditzy’s merchandise either having no name present, or more often than not a singular image of a muffin in place of a name, even going so far as to have “Muffins” be the credited name she was given in all voiced instances of the show.

Muffins, Ditzy Doo, or Derpy Hooves isn’t the only case of background characters growing a large following of fans with in the show; a variety of characters have been swept up by the fans, given names and personalities built entirely out of bit gags. Lyra, Bon Bon, Vinyl Scratch, Octavia Melody, and who knows how many more have all been seen in background moments which would be built on by fans and then echo back into the staff to be integrated into the show further. One would say this is fanon but at the end of the day, the writers and show staff had very little more intent with the characters beyond “does this background character look good?” and “Does this bit part character stand out enough to automatically be recognizable for the bit they need to be doing” it is still what I believe to be an example of Death of The Author, an act of choosing to ignore the intended meaning,and giving what amounts to window dressings a full life as fleshed out characters in fan content and in small instances of the show; an interpretation separate from the writers original intent.

Now the question is does someone need to actively defy the author to participate in The Death There-of? No. I don’t believe so. In much the same fashion no one need actually be a clan member to inadvertently say or do something that's passive aggressively racist(yes a bit of an extreme, I know) one need not actively defy the author, merely ascribe to an alternate interpretation of a work of fiction. Refer to Fight Club, the film does everything it can with out directly stating “most of the people in Fight Club and later Project Mayhem are bad people, because they were already doing the things Tyler Durden was ascribing to” and almost unilaterally all the bad takes are built around this idea that they’ve achieved the perfect ideal masculine because they’re the “living in the moment, violent psychopath” nihilist the movie is actively condemning.

The simple fact is that death of the author ultimately, in a grand scale amounts to this; did a writers intent show through hard enough for their intent to be heard? And Subjectively, how much does a person believe in the meaning that they, or the writer themself have imparted into the story?

#change of pace

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constantlyirksome · 5 years ago

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Review: Euphoria’s First Season Finale was Aesthetically Stunning but Narratively Clunky.

Going into the Euphoria season one finale we had a lot of questions: Would Fezco get arrested? Would Maddy and Nate get back together, or would he finally get what was coming to him? Would #Rules make it? Unfortunately, due to the episode's reliance on non-linear storytelling, we left with more questions than answers.

The Halloween episode used a similar narrative structure, the party was the centre of it and all the other scenes were flashbacks, in the end coming together in a satisfying way. Unfortunately, it didn’t work well at all this episode, while the core of the episode is the school dance (a classic hotbed for teenage drama) it’s not clear when all the other scenes occurred in relation to it, end it ended on multiple cliff-hangers.

Let’s talk about Nate and Maddy first. I have praised Jacob Elordi in the past because getting people to like a character is one thing, but to create and act out a character as loathsome as Nate takes talent. His key scenes with his father, Rue, and Maddy all had an incredible intensity and heat, he’s so convincing as a brute you wish that Rue’s fantasy, lighting Nate on fire and shooting him, was real.

He continues a lot of his patterns; first, he bullies Rue in a tense faceoff. Elordi and Zendaya have incredible rival chemistry, and as Nate sowed the seeds of doubt for Rue and Jule’s relationship, Rue threatened to burn his whole family down. He abused Maddy verbally and physically. The question of his and his father's sexuality popped up and honestly, that’s a thread I’m a little tired of. Internalized homophobia on that level, if they are gay, isn’t something I as a gay man care to watch.

Nate singlehandedly wins a football match but his father still berates him for not doing enough as a captain. Nate does what he does best, gets in his dads face, but his dad doesn’t back down and when they get into an uncomfortable physical confrontation where Nate is overpowered and breaks down completely. Like a child in a supermarket, he cries and thrashes and then begins hurting himself in his rage. This is a man who has gone through some serious emotional abuse, repression coupled with a genetic inflated ego, arrogance and violent misogyny. He was bound to explode, and he does so in such huge way I just have to applaud Elordi again. But the question is, was the tantrum before or after the dance?

Maddy did a lot of growing after being covered in the human manure that is Nate and decides she’s had enough.

“You’re abusive, psychopathic, and I hate the way you make me feel…” she says as they slow dance. I love Maddy, and this is an aspiring thing to see, a girl in the grips of an abusive relationship, who until now knew how sick it was but couldn’t leave, make the decision to cut it off. And props to her for trying to assure Nate that It’s Okay to Be Gay and that sexuality is a spectrum while he was screaming in her face. What an icon.

Cassey deals with her decision to terminate her pregnancy, weirdly McKay isn’t in the episode at all. At the dance, she says she never wants to fall in love again (honestly what a mood,) meaning they split up after she had her abortion, meaning either he is as shitty as every other man on the show or the show just didn’t know what to do with him. During her procedure she tunes out and listens to music, imagining herself ice-skating instead. It’s a beautifully shot moment, her on a blacked-out ice rink, completely alone, no McKay cheering her on. She does have her sister though, and at the scenes, for the dance they sit and laugh at other people which is always fun.

Kat got probably the only “happy” end to her story arc, finding Ethan on the dance floor, she realizes she can be the bad ass, confident, empowered woman she wants to be without being cruel, or shutting herself off emotionally. She finds a good middle ground and it’s very sweet to see her open up after so many episodes of her being so stoic.

Ethan delivers possibly the most romantic speech ever: “This is high school, will we last forever? Probably not. Someone will probably get hurt, but I’ll do my best to make sure that person is me.” What a cutie! Mazel Tov to the happy couple.

Fezco and Ashtray (just learned that’s what the little kid's name is) don’t get arrested, but he is still in trouble with drug dealer Mouse, whom he owns money to. His solution is to put on a ski mask and rob some guy, I’m unsure if this man is narratively relevant, or if he’s just rich. He’s got stacks of cash and prescription pills in a drawer so Fez gets lucky either way. When the guy pulls a gun, Fez proves how hard he really is, that Nate should be worried, and beats the guy in front of his kid. Fez has been toted as the best man on the show and it’s sad to say after that scene he probably still is. There’s something so likable about Fez and Angus Cloud that has you blaming the guy getting robbed for trying to be brave instead of blaming Fez for robbing him. Audiences perceptions around men these days are so warped, and standards are so low that characters like Fezco, who seems genuinely okay deep down, become the ones we’re drawn to. It’s weird, but I’m guilty of it too, because while he gives Mouse the money, Mouse spots blood on the bills and grabs his gun, leading the question, “does Fez get shot?” and I hoped to god he didn’t.

Finally our heroes Rue and Jules. Jules does Rue’s eye makeup, in a very similar way to how Anna did hers the last episode, and sings Anna’s praises, casually letting slip that she did sleep with the other girl. Later that night at the dance Rue finds her taking selfies and sending them to Anna. While Rue and Jules aren’t in a relationship, while Jules isn’t Rue's keeper, her sponsor, or her girlfriend it still came off kind of dickish. Jules deserves to be as free as she wants but she has never been good at communicating. She tells Rue that she loves her, and she wants to kiss her, (they do, it’s very steamy), and that she doesn’t want Rue to change… But when a sloppily planned escape to the city between the two of them falls through, Jules ends up leaving Rue behind, going back to Anna essentially.

Rue and Jules were connected and were in a lot of ways perfect for each other, outsiders with the same sick views of the world, but in so many ways they weren’t right for one another, between Rue's addiction/sobriety and Jule’s lifestyle there were few ways were you could see it working out but it was still sad to see, and the way it happened didn’t make a terrible amount of sense. Jules escapes with Rue, but ditches her even though it was Rue’s plan? And the worst part is that that’s what Nate predicted would happen when he was fighting with Rue.

We end on a mishmash of scenes with Rue, Jules and her family, good flashbacks, and a flashback to a fight with her mother that was so bad Rue was kicked out of home, but when did this all happen? One flashback clues us onto the fact that Rue’s red sweatshirt was actually her dads, but other than that the scenes are confusing. Back in the present Rue puts on her dad's hoodie and snorts a line of something, officially falling off the wagon. The question, made less clear after the coming scenes, is did she die? Many people believe she’s only able to know everyone’s business every episode because she dies.

Then, bizarrely it turns into a music video of sorts, if not a trippy one. You think Rue is revisiting more memories as she stumbles in a drug-induced state (Zendaya’s physicality here was fantastic) as her family ignores her, but then her dad is there, and then suddenly she’s in a sea of dancers and she’s (Zendaya) singing Labrinth's All For Us. (I already have it saved on Spotify talk about a BOP.)

It’s beautifully shot, choreographed and performed. The whole episode was beautiful, from the girls dance outfits, to the makeup, Cassey’s skate scene, and then the end dance. But it speaks to one of the biggest issues I have with Euphoria, which is if you take away the cinematography, great acting, the costuming and the killer soundtrack, Euphoria is narratively up and down. This episode was confusing, highlighted by the absurd ending. With season two confirmed more focus needs to go into planning for the future and making sure everything lines up. Speculation is Rue might be dead, or near dead but she only did one line of something so I think she’s fine, but alive or not the finale might have been so much more satisfying if things were a tiny bit clearer.

#euphoria #euphoria hbo #zendaya coleman #rue bennett #hunter schafer #jules vaughn

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helly-watermelonsmellinfellon · 6 years ago

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Fantastic Beasts: CoG Thoughts and Observations

*SPOILERS* Press ‘J’ if you want to skip to the next post.

Grindelwald is a badass. I don’t even like him and yet he’s a fucking badass. He was in fucking prison for 6 months and they had to change his guards multiple times because he’s so damn charismatic that he kept luring the Aurors to his side!

He then got out long before he was supposed to be transported and literally took out everyone on the transport team. And he drove the damn carriage and without even looking behind him, directed bolts of lightning to take out some of the Aurors on their brooms.

He did not come to play.

Newt is still my adorable child. He’s so awkward and still feels like he did in the first film which is great. A lot of people whined about how he wasn’t ‘manly enough’. Because Newt shows compassion on the regular and is more soft-spoken and not interested in ‘manly professions’ or some shit, so he doesn’t fit the ridiculous type of masculinity Hollywood shoves down our throats and dudebros can’t relate to him.

“There are no strange creatures, only wicked people,” is a great line and should be used in reference to animals as well since some people still walk around acting like sharks and pitbulls are evil incarnate. I really love Newt.

Leta knows him well enough to know what he’d say in response to her comment. They have an awkward air of camaraderie about them.

Newt stood up to a teacher with that line of his and got a month’s worth of detention. Leta left a dungbomb in his office to get back at him so she could join Newt. Good friends fight the intolerant assholes in charge of your education together.

Theseus gives off this smarmy vibe. I seen people praise him as a good brother but at present just the way he stands annoys me. And it makes me sad that Newt feels like he can’t be himself in order to be rightfully treated like a human being should be treated.

The dude playing Theseus really does resemble Eddie though, so props for getting that right at least. I can believe they’re siblings.

As usual the Ministry is useless. Grindels is literally the reason NYC got fucked up. Him and his messing with Credence. Newt made some mistakes but actually worked to fix them and then saved all their asses in the process. Why is he getting blamed with misinformation? Even in the 20s Magical Britain’s Ministry is full of morons.

There’s a black dude in a high Ministry position. I think there are more POC in this film than all the HP films combined, jfc. ‘bout time!

Also, they never told Newt that Credence is alive and are now using that fact as a way to try and guilt-trip him into joining the Ministry. Cleverish I suppose, but I still don’t like them.

Some dude just referred to Credence as an IT. wtf? Credence is a wizard who, because magical people suck at getting abused children the help they need, ended up a massive mess. He’s not some thing to be treated like shit!

The brothers are arguing and Newt starts spouting off things he’s mostly likely heard from Theseus and his parents. I will admit Theseus seems less annoying now that he’s spoken a bit, but the fact that Newt starts saying, “Okay, right, here we go, selfish, irresponsible-” speaks of somebody who is used to being compared to another and having what others consider to be ‘faults’ shoved in his face and complained about. That sucks a lot.

Okay, Theseus isn’t as annoying as I expected him to be. He does seem to care for Newt and understand how his mind works to an extent. He isn’t offended that Newt doesn’t go to hug him back. Newt is just awkward with physical contact from humans. He’s always seemed to be on the spectrum for me and I’ve only recently found out that others feel the same, which makes his character more interesting imo.

Grindels is in lift shoes! Needs that extra height that badly? 5′10 isn’t short or anything but he really needed that lift to 6′0″? XD

At least Grindels and the Gang are only using AKs(silently btw). I don’t get why everyone always acts like AK is the absolute worst spell in HP when literally it’s just a quick and painless death. There are a bajillion others spells that are actually terrifying.

Newt easily noticing that he’s being followed and fucking with his stalker is the best. People who say Newt is weak are effin stupid.

I would not take the hand of some random glove hovering in my face. Now way, no how. idc who it might belong to, that’s some shady shit. I don’t trust people.

Though we have to admit that the glove forcibly Apparating him, even if it’s a small distance is pretty cool. Dumbles annoys me but as Phineas Nigellus will say in the future, “He’s got style.”

The fact that Newt knew it was Dumbles makes me wonder if Dumbles has done this before.

Dumbles literally just summoned a big ass fog to cover the city! I don’t like him but he keeps impressing me! It’s annoying! Stop it!

“A Phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in desperate need.” Interesting.

A wizard doing sleight of hand. Oi vey. Dumbles is a drama queen to the umpteenth degree.

God he was a cryptic asshat even back then. It’s very easy to believe this dude becomes the Dumbledore we all know. I think people are just bitching because they refuse to see Dumbledore for who he is. Lots of people whining about ‘how manipulative Jude’s Dumbledore is’ not realizing that HP-Dumbles is literally a Master Manipulator.

Baby Nifflers are effin adorable and I love how well Newt knows them!

Newt literally has someone working for him. And he’s been nothing but reassuring in his own way. He especially tells her to avoid the Kelpie because he doesn’t want her to get hurt. I have seen several people whining about him ‘being mean’ to her and I just have to ask, are y’all fucking stupid? He knows his creatures and when he tells her to not go near one alone because of how dangerous it is and she might lose a finger, he’s not being mean. He’s being a responsible employer. I know some of your bosses don’t give a shit about your well being, but Newt is actually a decent bloke. Chill the fuck out.

She’s flirting with him and is really bad at it. But it’s kinda funny at the same time.

Also can we just stop and talk about how talented Newt is that he can create such realistic habitats in such seemingly small and cramped places? He’s really good at magic.

Queenie and Jacob are cute. And to all the people whining about how ‘unnecessary’ he is to the plot, can y’all chill? He is there for a reason. To show how fucked up MACUSA is when it comes to dealing with Muggles. Queenie will literally be imprisoned if they find out she’s with a Muggle. It’s ridiculous and his character is supposed to show how even the American wizards are messed up.

Queenie calling Newt, ‘honey’ is sweet. I swear she’s the Molly of this new group of friends. Seems like she wants to take care of people and just adopts everyone who comes along.

God, even the magical gossip rags are shit even back then. They deliberately made it so it looked as if Newt and Leta were a thing. Though tbh nothing really happened between Newt and Tina in the first film so her being all offended over him possibly marrying another woman is ridiculous.

These weird shots that are supposed to be directly from someone’s point of view are a bit annoying, I must admit. It’s kind of like watching through a somewhat less annoying fish-eye lens, but still annoying anyway.

Newt is very smart. He notices very quickly that Jacob is out of sorts and that he hasn’t been acting normally. He deduces very quickly that something is up and then stops it.

I really like how level-headed Jacob is about everything considering all the crap he’s just thrown into. He cares enough about Queenie to not want her to be imprisoned/possibly killed for breaking a stupid law. I got really emotional at that part because MACUSA is full of idiots.

Jacob is right though, she’s not being sensible. There’s a lot at stake and it isn’t smart for them to marry yet no matter how much they want to.

Jacob looks at the bird thing and then’s just like, “I got my own problems.” He’s been through enough shit to just not care atm.

And now everyone’s basically going to Paris anyway.

Walking through weird barriers into new places should no longer impress me but it still does!

The magical circus looks kind of awesome but the I’m also not a fan of how circuses are handled. So it’s this cross between amazement and annoyance at the inhumane way animals(in this case creatures) are being handled.

Literally, they are kept locked up in filthy places, I am unhappy! Also Claudia Kim, who portrays Nagini, is so very beautiful and I am so very gay.

Nagini’s hair has that little serpent-like curl at the end as it rests against her neck. It’s such an awesome little detail to throw in there.

Her transformation is really cool btw.

Wow! You treat the creatures like shit and mock them, and get all confused when they attack you? I hope pain was dealt.

What is it with all the bad guys in everything having to incorporate skulls into their dirty business? Is this supposed to be a play on the whole skulls and crossbones thing meaning death?

Though Grindels does make it more interesting than some wiggly tattoo at least.

Dumbles is considered the greatest threat to his cause when he’s practically been doing nothing but playing teacher. That’s some high praise I suppose.

He’s already known as ‘The Great Albus Dumbledore’! What did he do to gain such belief in his prowess? He’s like 46!

Newt’s asking Jacob for advice on what to say when he sees Tina again, and Jacob gives him great advise. “Best not to plan these things.” It’s good. And then Newt’s like, “She has eyes just like a salamander,” and Jacob’s tune changes immediately! XD “Don’t say that!”

Jacob is a good friend. I really like him!

Jacob’s reactions are the greatest because he’s literally like an in-universe representation of the fandom when we saw magic in the movies for the first time!

Do people know that Eddie Redmayne actually licked the ground?

Newt talking about how narrow Tina’s feet are and Jacob just being like, ‘okaaaaaaay’ is the best!

Queenie must be so lost. Hearing all these thoughts and not knowing the language they’re in. And it must be stressful to not only be in an unfamiliar place but also be completely unprepared for everything going on.

That is the perfect moment to trick her. Literally, I don’t get how people can’t see that she’s emotionally vulnerable and a prime target for manipulation right now.

Credence is just a mess. He needs friends. Glad Nagini seems to be filling in that role but honestly he needs a few more. Those who are ‘cursed’ in essence, like he is. So they’ll understand him.

I really love Jacob’s character. He’s just so amazed by magic and all the things it can do. ^-^

Newt! Knows how to tame and capture creatures he’s never even met before! Zuowus are cute imo.

Hedwig’s Theme, I am crying!

Also, Hogwarts brings back my feels.

Very confused about the McGonagall thing unless this involves time-travel which idk how advanced that was at the time.

The fucking Aurors just break into the class and Head dude’s like, “I can go wherever I please. OUT!” And all the kids just standing there and look to Dumbledore for direction. It’s fucking hilarious that they won’t even listen to the dude who could imprison them with whatever excuse he can make up.

Now, there seems to be students of all ages in this classroom, which makes me wonder if it’s actually a class or Dumbledore has a Dueling Club set up, because he’s literally teaching a Gryffindor how to not make the same mistakes in a duel, right before owning his ass. idc what anyone says, no class of 17/11 year olds will have multiples students the size of first/seventh years in it. People are either really really tall or really really short. So I vote for a Dueling Club happening.

The Gryffindor who just lost the duel gets up in the dude’s face and is like, ‘he’s the best teacher we’ve got’. Props.

Dumbledore is way better than this Travis dude. And I mean by power and presence. I don’t like him any more than I do the Travis dude. Meaning not at all, But you get what I mean. Dumbles is far better for the good guys than this hoity toity asshat who thinks that because he’s Head Auror he can do anything he wants. Him ignoring Dumbledore’s warning is going to get a lot of people killed.

“We were closer than brothers.” How else can anyone take that? What is closer than a familial tie? A romantic one! Duh!

He’s banned from teaching DADA. But he isn’t banned from teaching any other class! Travis should have been more specific! This is probably how Dumbledore ended up teaching Transfiguration during Tom’s time at school since he doesn’t fight Grindels until 1945. I love loopholes!

Are the candles in the Great Hall just lit all the time?

I for one, think that ‘Talk Shit, Get Hit’ is a very wonderful saying to take to heart. So when people were talking shit about Leta, she damn well deserved to tear them a new asshole over it! I applaud her for cursing that gossiping little bitch’s mouth shut in the corridor. She deserved it. I am a blood-thirsty bitch!

Young-Newt literally looked like a young Eddie Redmayne. Superb casting on that part, God damn! He even got all of Eddie’s chosen mannerisms down!

You know, I’m not shocked that Leta’s being harassed by Gryffindors. The whole school treats Slytherins like shit the moment they’re Sorted. Even when they aren’t raised on the magical side and know nothing about Slytherin’s reputation.

I have mentioned how annoying I find the weird fish-eye-like lens view, right? ‘Cause it’s annoying me again.

BTW, I will always firmly believe that Hufflepuff/Slytherin friendships are the strongest. That is a deadly combination right there.

Albus admits that he didn’t love Ariana as much as he should have. Age does somewhat remove that veil from the eyes, doesn’t it?

I really, honestly think that people just decided that anythngn they saw in this movie was going to be horrible and that’s why y’all are being a bunch of whiny bitches over everything. Queenie didn’t just up and decide hey, I’m joining Grindels! She’s honestly at the end of her rope and is getting manipulated. Y’all are fucking ridiculous. Don’t pay for tickets if you intend to find fault in everything the movie has to offer.

The good sis stands up and points her wand at Grindels despite knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to do shit to him. Temerity ftw.

You gotta give Grindels some props. This dude knows how to play on everyone’s soft points. He just sees them and immediately goes in for the kill. Was Voldy like this in the 70s? It makes more sense that people would follow him if he acted like this before ‘dying’ the first time. ‘Cause after his resurrection he wasn’t follow-worthy imo. Too frantic and mad to take seriously.

He literally tells her that she’s an ‘innocent’ and that ‘he doesn’t wish her harm’. He then tells her to leave, which puts her under the impression that she’s safe from him and can make her own choices. This is a prime manipulation tactic because she’ll come back eventually once she remembers that he supposedly gave her a choice and no one else will. She told Jacob he wasn’t giving her a choice, and now Grindels, the supposed bad guy, is doing just that. And he makes it like he understands her suffering in her desire for love without restriction. Even good guys make mistakes. Y’all want to kiss Dumbledore’s ass for every shit thing he did by saying he was trying to save the world, so you can get over Queenie having a lapse of judgment during an emotionally and mentally trying period.

Ah, the Mirror of Erised, in which you see your heart’s greatest desire. And Dumbledore sees him and Grindelwald alone.

Also, I’m just saying that pressing their hands together would have been enough to make the blood mix. Linking their fingers is not necessary at all.

Finally it’s just Grindelwald as he currently is, staring him down with an innocent expression. And Dumbledore’s sad smile is the only thing we see as the scene fades to black.

Newt is so good with creatures, I love him!

Every time he comes out of that case I am reminded of how slight Eddie is.

Newt asks Jacob to get the tweezers from his bag, but after the mishaps in the last film where British and American English were proven to be different to a degree, he goes on to explain what they look like and both Tina and Jacob are like ‘we know what they are, dude’. XD

They disinfect the unconscious dude, Tina gets her info and heads off. And Jacob tries to get her to come back and then looks at Newt and is all, “You didn’t mention salamanders, did you?”. XD

Upon Jacob’s insistence he goes after Tina and tells her she’s different from other Aurors because she’s got Middle Head, in reference to the middle head of a Runespoor which is said to be a Visionary/Dreamer and doesn’t argue like the heads on either side of it. Tina doesn’t want to kill Credence like everyone else which makes her a different kind of Auror.

So that whacky black shroud that covers the city is Grindels’ way of calling his peeps together?

Grindels’ appears before Credence and tells him he ‘wants nothing from him and wants everything for him, that Grindels never had’. He and Dumbles are perfect for each other. Master Manipulators. A certain kind of Dynamic Duo. Grindels even uses the whole ‘my boy’ thing!

The shot is on Jacob. His stomach growls and it pans down and then up. And Flamel is right behind him when it comes back up! Shit like that always gets me in films! The only kind of jumpscare I’m not into. I don’t like my back being exposed so shots like this kill me.

The Flamels don’t keep food in their house. What exactly was the exchange for living so long? Like, I just thought the Stone kept them youthful and stopped their aging, you know? Apparently they have no need of food. Wouldn’t living that long be boring as hell when you can’t even enjoy the basics of life?

“You don’t look a day over 375.” I love Jacob! XD

Seriously though. Nicki looks like he’ll fall apart at any moment. Is living forever like this really worth it?

Nicki “Hasn’t seen action in 200 years,” OMG!

Newt Polyjuices himself into looking like Theseus and calls him ‘an Auror and a hugger’ in this long-suffering but fond tone.

Theseus and Leta are literally right there too!

It was all going so well and then Theseus looks down and isn’t it always like that? The plot must continue on somehow? I’m dying! XD It was a good plan until that happened.

Tina gets him down with a flick of the wand? The War Hero? Really? Good for her!

Newt is such an awkward turtle. I love that they didn’t insist upon Eddie changing up the way he portrays him!

Newt describes Tina’s eyes as “Having and effect in person. Like fire in water, dark water,” and if that isn’t the nicest way to describe dark brown eyes idk what is. HE’S TRYING SO HARD NOT TO SAY THE SALAMANDER LINE! XD

SHE SAID IT INSTEAD! XD How she got that I have no idea. I don’t know shit about salamanders.

And Leta finds them and runs with them. I wonder if Tina is feeling awkward.

He’s known the Zouwu for so little time and it’s already cuddling up to him! The Snow White of fucking wizards, everyone! He is a cinnamon roll and must be kept safe!

Honestly I am proud I kept up with the whole Lestrange family tree business because holy shit it was convoluted!

The Lestranges are so sexist. Only the men get recorded on the family tree, what bullshit. Leta’s father Raped her mother via Imperius and never loved her. Frankly, a child being jealous of a new sibling that he did love shouldn’t be surprising. Kids make mistakes all the time and hating her for making a rash decision she didn’t fully understand at that age, is ridiculous. She didn’t even mean to get him killed. It’s not like she’s some super horrible person for that.

Newt gets this! He literally gets it! And she tells him “You’ve never met a monster you couldn’t love”. I hurt. She’s not a monster, she’s a fucking human being who made a grave mistake when she was like 7 and it haunted her for the rest of her life.

Nagini doesn’t trust Purebloods because, “They kill the likes of us for sport”. Her life must have sucked.

And here’s where is all leads up to. The literal Crimes of Grindelwald. And not in the sense of law-breaking, although there has been a lot of that. The title means in reference to an act of of great offense which isn’t illegal but still considered morally reprehensible, against another person or persons. He’s spent this whole time manipulating the hell out of everyone and doing things both illegal and simply sinful. Lying isn’t against the law, but the way he’s doing it is wrong, and it helps him commit his ‘crimes’.

Also what the hell is with evil people and graveyards/tombs? Is this a requirement in joining the dark side?

Grindels finds muggles “Not disposable but of a different disposition.” He’s really workin’ it because he knows the kinds of people who showed up to this little speech thing of his and he’s getting all of them at once.

He’s literally showing them a vision of what will happen in WWII with the bombs in order to scare them into joining his side. It’s what will ‘rise up’ from the muggles, and Jacob understands it instantly. Scare tactics ftw! He has a point in a sense. Could we really say that the leading governments of our world wouldn’t try to enslave magicals in order to have the most power over all other countries?

The Aurors are called down to face the crowd and Grindels knows just what to say to stir up feelings of distrust. Though they’re cops so it’s not shocking. They’re all power-hungry and with the experience a lot of the people have with Aurors, plus Grindels sweet-talking them all, of course some chick just up and moves against them and get murdered on the spot. Not even detained. Cops kill first and ask questions later, not shocking magic ones do the same.

Auror used an AK without hesitation. But you know, everyone says that is the most evil spell in HP, right? And no one, not even Aurors, should use it?

And as expected, it all plays in Grindels’ plans. I’m not shocked. “Spread the word. It is not we who are violent.” Right after an Auror just murdered someone. Talk about playing on the emotions.

The fire Grindels’ conjures is blue, compared to normal fire. Which means it’s hotter. Voldy’s fire was also blue. Is this just because they’re magically powerful or are both Dark Lords?

Grindelwald uses magic like he’s a conductor. It’s interesting because everyone else but Voldy has only ever had a death grip on their wands. Voldy holds his wand more gracefully and loosely.

Nagini does not side with Grindelwald. And she has a point. He knows what Credence is, not who he is.

Okay, so a lot of people died in the blue fire, but Newt was able to hold the fire off from consuming him several times. My child is so powerful! He’s just never violent with it! *APPLAUSE*

Queenie’s desperation makes me so sad. She and Jacob love each other but go about it very differently.

I can’t tell if Leta was saying ILY to Newt or Theseus. Maybe to both but with different meanings? Romantic Love isn’t the only kind of love out there. One is her long-time friend whom she could have romantic feelings for if their bond is deep enough. The other is her fiance though her bond with him doesn’t seem that deep. Confusing and shot deliberately like that to confuse us too.

She tries to kill Grindels knowing it won’t work. I like Leta. I don’t get why people don’t like her.

He’s literally using his fancy Fiendfyre to destroy Paris. This dude aims big!

Flamel is a genius and a bunch of people, most who aren’t trained Aurors, just had to put out some powerful magic that would have destroyed a whole city.

Newts hugs Theseus!

The Niffler lives and got the Blood Pact thing from Grindels! How did he not notice it?

Queenie’s skills are very useful to Grindels in how to deal with Credence without scaring him off. He knew what he was doing in manipulating her to his side.

Grindels and Dumbles agreed not to fight one another. Wonder what would happen if they turned their wands on each other with intent to do harm. Pain? Or maybe... their spells being directed elsewhere by some unseen force and hitting nearby things(*cough* Ariana *cough*)?

So here’s where I am confused but I have many thoughts. A.) Percival Dumbledore died some time after 1890 but no date is given. He was in Azkaban during the time and immoral things happen in prison. He could be the father. B.) Kendra Dumbledore died in 1899 and Credence was born ‘circa’ 1901(meaning around that time frame but no specific details are known) so she could have birthed him. Albus wouldn’t know since he wasn’t very present at home and was distant to his siblings. Kendra isn’t actually a Dumbledore but she had the name, Credence doesn’t know the details, and Grindels could have sent the Phoenix in some way. C.) Grindels is just lying altogether but he’s really believable. D.) He used the word ‘brother’ to mean family, like how he addressed the people as his ‘brothers and sisters’. His fellow magical people. So perhaps he meant as in like Credence’s kin. So he could be a child of Aberforth who would be old enough to sire a child(teens do it all the time), or of their Aunt Honoria who could have had a kid for all people know.

Dumbles is the one to tell us all about the Phoenix thing first. Grindels strengthens that fact later on, making it not just some children’s tale. It’s all left to us to wonder if he’s lying about Credence or not.

I observed a lot.

So for the cinematography, it was really well done save for the fish-eye lens crap. I really didn’t like that. But I am a sucker for panning from above. Also clever use of the camera while certain people speak. Angles can do wonders to tell a story.

I thought the plot was very easy to follow. I’ve seen people whine about it not making sense but literally, in stories about multiple people, the POV shifts. A lot. In order to understand why everyone is doing what they are doing, you need to know what is going on from their ends. So yeah, why is everybody just randomly in France of all places? Paying attention lets you find out!

I do have one really big annoyance and it’s more for it taking this long instead of it happening at all. In the original HP films there really aren’t a lot of non-white actors portraying characters, even if they’re just extras to fill in for other students and such. In this film there were extras of all kinds of nationalities. I saw a lot of Black and Asian folks just filling up the background. And I’m glad the universe now seems more realistic and diverse. It’s just annoying that the most diverse of all the films in this fictional world, is the newest one and kinda makes the others a bit disappointing since the 20s were less progressive than the 90s.

My initial opinions on certain characters did change. Naturally I hate Dumbledore as a character no matter what but he’s more interesting than before. And I don’t really like Grindels all that much but he is a badass and watching him is interesting. Theseus and Leta grew on me with such little time. I cried for both of them. I’m disappointed but not shocked or angry at Queenie’s actions. I cried for her too. Flamel creeps me out still. I like Nagini. She’s been through some tough shit and is mildly distrustful of everyone. And now she’s away from possibly her only friend(I got not romance vibes between she and Credence btw).

I liked all the story-telling. There were a lot of creatures. A lot of talking. A decent amount of action. And humor spread out here and there for some levity.

I thought it was a fine film. It was good. I’d re-watch it with the first without hesitation. I had moments where I laughed, moments where I cried, and moments where I wasn’t sure what I was feeling at all.

Grade: A

#Fantastic Beasts Spoilers #FBAWTFT #HP #omg #Fantastic Beasts #Crimes of Grindelwald #Crimes of Grindelwald Spoilers

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hellowallflowerfriend · 7 years ago

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For my Mentees

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” – Sir Edmund Hillary

It has been a quiet two days for me in Kentucky. It has been just me and little Dorian flopping around. Dorian has been meeping for food and while we play. He’s been really cuddly at night.

Rajiv (my partner) has been away in Texas, so the past two days of my vacation have been a vacation with myself. It’s been nice to run again, do yoga again, and practice henna. And now, here I am writing again, reconnecting with my thoughts.

I know that in two months time, I will be living in a new city, and likely a new state. I will be living with a roommate who I happen to be in love with. I try to imagine what I will do for work. I try to imagine the little details, like the designs on the curtains, the couches I’ll sit on, the plants I’ll water.

I am feeling at the same time two equally strong emotions that are almost on opposite ends of the spectrum. I am feeling loss, despair, and anxiety as I leave the home I have created for myself. Conversely, I am feeling jubilance, anticipation, and optimism about leaving said home. I feel like a bird sitting at my threshold of my nest wondering… if I try to jump, will I fly?

When I first graduated Clemson University, I was so ashamed that I never returned the call from the school district that reached out for an interview. I beat myself up when I decided instead to again tie an apron full of straws around my waist. I felt like I had given up. I was exactly where I started before I even graduated high school, waiting tables. I got the degrees, which I was happy about. But my thought was that I could never be a good teacher. The longer I wore that apron, the further my shoulders curled forward, eyes down, disappearing in front of my own eyes.

I felt so alone, like I had no safe haven to curl into.

I was trying to recover from some deep pain in my heart. I was living through flashbacks and coping mechanisms and denial. I was trying to learn at last what normal looked like. I yearned to know what peace looked like.

I think this feeling may relate to some of the students I work with. Here I am, beginning a new path, but what does it mean? What comes next? Will I fly if I jump?

The reality is when I walked into Cherokee Creek for the first time, I was in disbelief that I had finally found the courage to apply. I was going to learn how to stand up for myself, dam*-it! I was going to learn how to lead others. I wanted to walk out of work on my last day with my back finally held straight, my head high, and with warmth still in my eyes.

In the beginning, I always took work home with me. I read parenting articles before I fell asleep. I spent entire car-rides home wracking my brain, trying to think of how to help these guys. I slowly earned their respect, and I slowly learned how to say, “No.” I learned how to set boundaries, to not get taken advantage of, to stand up (for/and) against things that were (not) pointing towards kindness. If I looked violence in the eye, I finally learned how to roar, how to square up, how to show up if no one else could. I learned how to treat myself as I observed how I treated others.

I think one of my favorite things about working with these guys is that I get to show them how love acts. I have done my very best to model authoritative parenting, and I have tried to show these guys that they can experience secure attachment with others. I have loved learning about these guys-- that one kid is obsessed with snakes; he thinks they’re so cool. Another student has finally stopped defiantly wearing his hat indoors. I can tell when one kid is lying if I tell him to look me in my eyes. I know one kid absolutely loves G-2 pens, carries a case of them with him everywhere. I am so full of joy with these guys, helping them remember how to be happy. I get paid to walk into work and do my best to be family to these guys.

I cannot believe the amount of growth I have gotten the gift of receiving during my time at this school. My heart aches when I think of leaving behind these people that I love so much, these growing, confused, silly, angry, reaching young men who have become like young brothers along the way. I have already gotten choked up thinking about saying goodbye to these family members from other families.

I want the students I work with to know that they have been loved. They have been accepted. They are okay just the way they are. I hope that they have learned as they have accepted themselves, to love themselves, and as a result, others. I hope at least one guy has learned to turn to running, painting, animals, the outdoors, anything, “real,” and, “true,” to find themselves again. I know that these are things they have taught me.

And, now: I am not afraid to teach anymore. I am not afraid to stand up for myself anymore. I stand with my back straight. I look people in the eyes. I love myself, so I love others.

I walked into the doors of that school broken, hurting, fearful, and hopeful. I leave the doors full of love, with a warrior’s spirit, and I leave them propped open for the person behind me.

I have known suffering in the past. I venture to say that I am mostly healed, always healing. I am ready to teach because I am ready to learn. If I were to take part in their traditional graduation ceremony, I would leave my graduation rock in the way of the Warrior. I would leave these words for the community:

It may seem like things will never get better, that they can’t. You may feel almost no self-worth. You may be angry, you may hate that life has had to be this way for you. I leave HOPE for you. You are worthy. You are capable. You can and you will! You can and you will! Keep your eyes on the future you want. Live the questions, and one day, you will discover that you have slowly lived your way into the answer.

#metoo #ican #self care #self love #recovery #newbeginnings #climbtothetop #never give up #hope #love always wins #the fourfold way #angeles arrien #survivor

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avaalons · 7 years ago

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Chris Evans Fic: Hiking and Hypocrisy (Chapter 8)

You were struggling to contain everything you felt. You had imagined seeing him again a thousand times over but nothing prepared you for the reality. You felt small, vulnerable, nothing like the person you had been for the last five or six years. Your life had been separated into three distinct stages: pre-Isaac, during-Isaac and post-Isaac. Post-Isaac you were collected, calm, you didn’t allow much to phase you, you didn’t allow much to shake you in any sense. You had learned that the consequences of allowing anyone in just weren’t worth it. Until Chris, of course, who had, despite all your best efforts, wriggled his way into your consciousness with his easy humour, his charming smile and his genuine, honest love of life and people.

But now the evidence, the reminder of all the reasons why you kept yourself so closed off was in front of you for the first time in seven years and you felt yourself shrinking.

From somewhere behind you, Chris’ voice could be heard, confused and wary.

‘What’s going on here?’

You saw Isaac’s gaze flicker to him, and the minute tweak of his sneer as he found a new focus. This whole sorry situation needed shutting down and fast before Isaac could get to Chris. You needed to be gone. Like, an hour ago.

You sprung into action, focusing your attention on the two rangers and gesturing towards Chris, sat with Dodger obediently at his side.

‘This gentleman is injured. Sprained ankle and possibly broken ribs. Is either of you medically trained?’

One stepped forward and made in Chris’ direction.

‘Wait-‘ you heard Chris say, but you didn’t dare turn around and he was being assessed by the ranger before he could say anything else anyway.

‘Are you going to explain what you’re doing in my property at some point?’ Isaac spat.

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your body defensively, ‘Got caught in the storm with no chance of making it back. This was a last resort.’

‘This is trespassing, is what it is.’

‘Isaac, I let myself in with your own key. That’s hardly going to stand up in court.’

‘Does he know?’ Isaac jutted his chin towards Chris.

‘Know what?’ You croaked, panic rising in your voice.

Realisation and malicious amusement danced in his dark eyes, and when he spoke, he was purposefully loud enough for Chris’ attention to be grabbed, ‘He doesn’t, does he? He doesn’t know that he’s spent the night with you in your ex-fiancé’s place.’

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, ‘Stop it, Isaac.’

‘Did you both eat my food? Shower in my bathroom?’ his quiet, eerie voice was getting closer to you and a shiver ran down your spine. ‘Did you fuck in my bed?’

Your eyes shot open in horror and your face flamed with awful, sickening humiliation, ‘Isaac! Please!’

But he was enjoying himself too much.

‘What was it? Been cooking up your revenge for the last seven years? And this was it? Here it is, your great triumph over me. A revenge fuck with another guy in my bed, yeah?’ The small modicum of amusement disappeared and his voice and eyes turned hard and unforgiving. ‘Like I would give a fuck. Like I have even given you a second thought. I feel sorry for the poor guy, knowing what a disappointment you will have been.’

You trained your eyes to the floor, swiftly glancing in Chris’ direction, praying he hadn’t heard any of Isaac’s words. Your breathing shallow, your body stiff and unmoving as you saw Chris way, way on the other side of the lodge, all attention completely taken up by the rangers. You just needed to let Isaac get it all out of his system while figuring out how to get out of there and fast. This was a situation you had dealt with before, after all, all you had to do was not listen. Just let it all roll off you. It was just words.

It was just. Words.

You were silent, knowing that replying to him would just make him worse. You felt like crying, and not because what he was saying was hurting your feelings, but because it wasn’t so long ago, you’d have believed every word and even apologised to him. For being less than expected. For being a disappointment in all things.

But now, you needed to make sure that firm, hard exterior of yours was back in place and you needed to get out here and fast.

You tuned into the conversation taking place with Chris and knew that an ambulance was on its way. All you needed to do was wait a little while longer. You packed away your feelings to that place you had shoved them all so long ago and fixed Isaac with an unwavering stare.

‘Send me an invoice for the cost of the food. And the facilities if you like. Trust me, I would not have come here if there had been any other option. We’re three hours walk from the car, the storm had moved in and Chris was injured. I apologise for the intrusion but this was the closest safe place.’

The rangers were beginning to help Chris to the car, who was trying to convince them he didn’t needed assistance. They were going to drive Chris up to the where the cars were parked so that he could be met by the ambulance there. You needed to collect Dodger and take him with you.

‘I’m leaving now, Isaac. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.’

You gathered up Dodger’s lead and clipped it on him as Isaac looked on in something like surprise.

‘So you’re trying the whole ice queen act, I can see. You’re not fooling anyone sweetheart. You’re the same pathetic mouse you always were.’

You paused on your way out of the door, but did not turn around to speak to him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

‘No, Isaac, I’m not. I was, I’ll give you that. I was pathetic enough to deal with you for too many years of my life, but I don’t have to now. I’m done and have been done for a very long time.’

With that, you walked purposefully from the building, climbing into the open door of the ranger’s vehicle. Chris was there too, of course, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The engine was started and you were off, Dodger curled up on the middle seat between you.

‘So that was your ex-boyfriends place,’ Chris spoke first, softly enough not to draw the attention of the two men in the front as you rumbled along the forest road.

‘Yep. There was no other choice.’

‘I know,’ he replied, ‘I just can’t help feeling that there were some things you did have a choice about, and you went ahead and did them anyway even though they were very questionable decisions.’

You let your eyes drift shut, feeling the shame wash over you, knowing he was referring to the pretty obvious moves you made on him during the night.

‘I’m sorry.’ It was all you could say. There was no reason, no excuse. You opened your eyes again, vision blurred and desperately trying to focus on the green whirring past you as the 4x4 sped the both of you to where your own cars were parked. For all your big, brave words, you could feel yourself shrinking now.

***

The whole incident felt like a blur as your alarm blared obscenely into the early morning. You barely even remembered driving yourself home, which made you feel queasy. You couldn’t even really recall what had happened to Chris. Had he actually been packed in an ambulance? Had someone come to pick him up? What happened to Dodger? You had run so fast away from it all, you had barely any recollection of what had actually happened in those last couple of hours.

Such was the impact of seeing Isaac again.

You sighed, heaving yourself out of bed and padding to the bathroom. Such was the life of a teacher: nothing but nothing would stand in your way of turning up at school.

You didn’t even dare look at yourself in the mirror, fearful of seeing the evidence of yesterday etched across your features. Fearful you would see yourself as Isaac described. Disappointing.

Berating yourself as you showered for your lack of strength, you kept turning the reunion over and over in your mind. His sneering expression, his words that cut through every single one of the shaky defences you had built around yourself. All these years, you thought you had created an impenetrable fortress for your emotions, determined to never, ever let a man get to you the way he had again. He had made you a shell of a woman and once you were free, it took a long time to rebuild yourself, to find out who you actually were without him. But ten minutes in his company, and the whole delicate construction had come crumbling down.

However, you acknowledged, it wasn’t all him. At the other end of the feelings spectrum entirely, Chris had been slowly but surely encouraging you to let him in. He hadn’t been tearing at your walls, like Isaac always had, but he was gentle, so you barely even noticed when another piece had gone. By the time Isaac showed up, you were already vulnerable and exposed, ripe and ready to have your heart plucked from your chest and crushed once again.

It proved to you, more than ever, that relationships and feelings were more trouble than they were worth. Blasting your hair with the hairdryer, you resolved to forget Chris, to erase him from your life completely, to get yourself back to that place where you were untouchable and closed off. That place was safe and secure and where you needed to be.

***

‘Christ, you look like shit,’ Nina told you, brutally honest, as she walked into your classroom twenty minutes before the first bell, dropping a steaming cup of coffee in front of you.

‘Thanks for your loving support, as always,’ you replied wearily, your head slumped against your hand, propped on the surface of your desk and breathing in the rich coffee aroma gratefully.

‘Rough weekend?’

‘You could say that, but probably not for the reasons you’re imagining.’

‘Go on, give me the summarised version,’ Nina pulled out a chair and sat down opposite you as you took a deep breath and launched into the whole sorry tale, not holding back (excluding the part about Chris being a famous actor, of course), cringing when you told her how you threw yourself at Chris and then how Isaac threw insult after insult at you.

‘So, have you spoken to Chris?’

You sat up straight at that, ‘What?! Of course not! As he’d want to hear from me now, after all that. I tried to sleep with him in my ex-boyfriend’s bed for fuck’s sake!’

Nina shook her head, ‘He’s probably wondering what the hell you were thinking, true, but I don’t think that’s a deal breaker. Especially when you explain to him just how awful Isaac had always been to you.’

Bile rose in your throat, ‘No way. There is no way I will ever be explaining anything like that. No. I’m going back to how I was before, everything back to normal.’

Nina looked at you with something approaching pity, ‘Babe, how you were before wasn’t normal! Keeping yourself locked away and treating any man who threatens to disrupt your carefully ordered sphere by daring to be attracted to you like some sort of criminal isn’t normal. Is this Chris anything like Isaac?’

‘Of course not. Chris is… so different,’ you remembered him pretending to be Captain America for that little boy.

‘Then what’s the problem. Come on sweetheart, let yourself be happy now. It’s been long enough.’

‘I can’t Nina. I get too consumed. I lose myself and turn into this weak, stupid, ridiculous girl who just gets walked over and treated like shit. And I let it happen!’

‘It shouldn’t be like that though. What you had with Isaac wasn’t real, it was abusive! In an equal partnership, you don’t get one person bringing the other one down, changing them. That’s what you need to find,’ Nina reached across the desk to clasp your hand in hers, ‘You deserve it, I promise.’

‘I’m fine on my own Nina, I swear. I was perfectly happy with my life before Chris and I’ll be perfectly happy again.’

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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moonflaregal · 4 years ago

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On the Horizon - Part One

Technically, my first fic. Angst and comfort and maybe fluff.

Part One

Word Count: 1651

Every now and then, you would visit the roof of the dorms, looking at the sky and its expanse, calmly finding yourself watching the clouds with your eyes. You reached out, imagining brushing what you couldn't touch. No one was there to see your furrowed brow, your sudden tired shoulders, heavy from trying so hard every single day.

You had no desire to jump off the roof, but you couldn't deny that the winds before stormy days made you feel like you could ride them and end your worries.

This time, you were leaning next to the door that led down to the stairs. You had one arm propped up on one leg, and you were looking at the stars. Curfew, you knew, was coming up at a rapid pace, but you took the time to mold the stars into your palm.

You had a light creation and manipulation quirk. Even though it had strong support capabilities, you had managed to gain the ability to create tangible fire-like light that you could shape at will. It came in quite handy in dark hallways and when you were trying to find something under the couch, and it could also be used to fend off attackers, just in case.

The closest word to describe what you could create was starlight.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could craft a small star in your hand out of nothing. Bringing stars to life was a lot more complicated than the freeform lighting bolts you could wield like blades.

You added more stars that buzzed in your hands like restless marbles.

What you hadn't noticed was one of your classmates staring at the roof from the ground, puzzled. He had seen glowing light and thought maybe Kaminari was doing some late night training. True, you and Denki had similar quirks, and you two could make a wicked duo in a fight, but your starlight was somehow warmer. It seemed to glow more. Its buzz was softer, more controlled sometimes.

You folded your palms together, extinguishing the light, and Todoroki shrugged it off as nothing more than a confusing occurrence, determined to get inside and get ready for bed.

The next time you were on the roof was two days later. You had had trouble concentrating in class, tired and in your head. You tried so hard every day, yet some days were never as happy as they could be.

One of the bright sides of your quirk was that your strong connection with light meant that you could look into the burning sun without being negatively affected. So, this day, you stared directly at the sun, glaring at the edges you knew flickered with flames lapping at the space around them.

You were so engrossed in looking into the distance that you once again were oblivious to the boy on the ground. He tried to look at what you were looking at, but he couldn't focus on the the master star like you could.

Concern was written on his face in the form of a small frown. You were standing a bit too close to the edge, and the others were off nagging Aizawa-sensei about having another pool day, so Todoroki decided to run and check on you himself.

He sprinted into the dorms and up the stairs with determination. He hadn't always made an effort to talk to you, but sure, he had observed you, especially on training days. He observed everyone. Plus, you did remind him vaguely of Midoriya. It was in the way your façade sometimes fell away, and you looked more exhausted than usual. Maybe this was why he slammed the rooftop door open, breathing only slightly faster than normal, his mind set on getting to you as quickly as possible.

You were so intent on looking at the sun that you didn't notice the boy behind you. You felt calm. A little out of your body. A little disconnected. But calm.

"Y/n-san."

You didn't hear it at first. After all, Todoroki wasn't the loud man his father was.

But then his shoe crunched on scattered gravel, and this snapped you back to where you were. It startled you out of your mind, and on instinct the air around you crackled with static. It danced and glittered, like a white and gold nebula.

The sun seemed to dim behind you as you turned around. To Todoroki, you created an eclipse, your eyes bright white and boring into his being, contrasting with the absence of light outlining you. It was as if you absorbed the brilliance of the daylight.

"Oh, Todoroki-san," you said suddenly. The light you had generated faded away in an instant, and your smile was back in its place. You couldn't shake the weight off your shoulders, but you could widen your eyes and pull your mouth into a suitable grin with practiced ease. This, you were good at.

Todoroki stared at you for a moment, calculating in his head. After some assessment: "Are you okay?"

"Yep," you chimed without hesitation. But, your hand twitched when you said it. Did he notice? Of course he did. Did he say anything about it? He didn't know if he should.

"Really, I'm fine," you said, to reinforce just how okay you were determined to be. "Just thinking."

"Thinking?" He asked. He didn't move from where he was standing, noting that you hadn't stepped from the ledge, having come to the conclusion that it was best to make you come to him.

"Oh, you know, about how nice of a day it is. It's warm today."

"Hmm?" he prompted.

Afraid of holding his gaze too long, you looked directly above you. You stayed like that until you felt like speaking again. "Todoroki-san?"

"Todoroki."

"What?"

"Todoroki is fine."

"Oh. Todoroki... do you ever feel as if the clouds are actually heavy?" You asked. You felt the fatigue creeping up on you and the thoughts that always came with it.

"...They're made of vapor." Well, you couldn't say you weren't expecting a more literal response from the boy.

"Maybe it's imaginary weight. Pressure. The pressure to spark into a rainstorm. The pressure to fight like thunder." You couldn't help the words coming out. It had been so long since someone had listened to you. "I think the sky is always fighting. Air currents, spectrums of light, molecules floating around and crashing into each other. But each one is alone and fighting on its own."

He didn't interrupt you. While you were looking to the heavens and talking, you had subconsciously taken a step toward him.

"Does it ever end? There is always light. But will it ever overcome the darkness so much that it scorches the Earth? When will the sun become angry at the people who expect so much from it?"

He saw that your hands were uncontrollably shaking now, small threads of light snapping and curling around your knuckles.

"All I do is fight." Another step.

"I'm trying." Only a couple steps until you reached him.

"All I do is fight." Your fist acted on its own as you shouted the last word.

Your hand connected with Todoroki's left. His eyes were widened slightly, as you had caught him off guard. He'd never seen or heard you lash out before.

Reflected in his cool eyes, you saw yourself start to break. "It's all- it's all inside," you choked out, "I can't get rid of it. I'm sorry."

Todoroki stiffened. He knew that feeling. Bottling everything up inside. Burying it. Fighting. Resentment for those who wanted him to fight. Pushing him. Pushing it deep down.

He let go of your hand.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, "I'm just... so... weak." Burying your face in your hands, you squatted down to the ground. Your shoulders shook. "Weak. Weak. Weak. Can't anyone see I'm trying? I'm trying. I'm trying. I'm trying."

"I can."

You looked up from behind your fingers. Blurry from the tears, you barely made out Todoroki squatting in front of you calmly. He spoke again. "Y/n-san, I can see it." And he could. He had seen you train hard every day since you had transferred into his class. He admired you for it. For your fortitude. He was sometimes jealous of your easy carefree nature that accompanied how strong you were. You always expressed things better than him. But, he guessed he hadn't noticed that you also buried things within you. It made you more human to him, and he wanted to help you. He saw a bit of himself in you.

Lifting a hand, his right, he placed it on your shoulder hesitantly. It was warm. "I want to help."

Through your uneven breaths, you managed to get a few words out. "Y/n. Not y/n-san. Y/n is f-fine." At the hiccup on the last syllable, you bit your lip to stop from letting out another heaving cry.

Todoroki removed his hand from your shoulder to brush a strand of your hair out of your face, but he stopped just shy of touching you, unsure.

Then, without much of a warning, it fully hit you. The tiredness in your body caught up with your mind, and your mental resolve broke. Desperately trying to get it back, you stood up in a flash.

The sheer willpower to stay upright left you completely after that. Your knees started to buckle, and you started to fall.

At the last second, strong arms caught you. You felt cold and warm at the same time. Balanced. The last thing you saw before you passed out was the sun, and you wondered how Todoroki's grasp felt as strong as a solar flare but as soft as a sunrise. You wondered if you looked into his eyes again, would you see the sun itself?

#probablynotaccuratetohischaracterbutwhatever #todoroki

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katherinesisakproduction · 5 years ago

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A9 Final Pitch

Wow! After nine weeks, we’re finally at the end of the quarter...so without further ado, here’s a quick summary of the work behind ‘Origin’.

Theme: Appearances can be decieving/life isn’t always black and white

Logline: When Dennis -a superhero-obsessed boy- is dragged to his dad’s office for a ‘Take Your Child to Work Day’ he comes face-to-face with some titillating family secrets. Could this be the origin story for Voltaic City’s newest crimefighter?

Link to final animatic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0V-kj4Sc9Q&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR3npV64LbHoybTt2JF6xB35kJiMK4cPKXZCDfXtOLDYqATOlXm7SUYTqcY

In this version of the animatic, I addressed the notes about establishing (more clearly) the initial setting of the office, as well as changing the design of the desk that Dennis hides behind in order to make it more plausible that Eel Man wouldn’t be able to see him.

Supplemental Materials: This section ties in well with the characters/world

Dennis:

To rehiterate, Dennis is a seven-year-old boy who is obsessed with superheroes and comic books. He views his favorite comic book as his ‘guide to life’, believing that the world contained between the pages has the answers to everything. In a way, his attachment to comic books represents the very ‘black-and-white/good-and-evil’ view of the world that people have in their youth, because more traditional comic plotlines (of the past) tend to be very formulaic in that good always triumphs over evil.

In terms of new material, I reviewed the SCAD Animated Short handbook and developed a rough turnaround sheet and expression page for Dennis. After doing so, when this goes into production, I’m wondering if it might be a good idea to revist the hair design. As much as I enjoy the asymmetrical swoop from the frontal and 3/4 views, since this will be 3D, I’m not entirely certain if it will silhouette well from the sides.

The expression page for Deninis was a lot of fun to make: since he’s the main character and the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, I got to play with a lot of large facial emotions...His roundness makes him a lot of fun to sketch out.

Eel Man/The Dad:

Eel Man is the secondary character in the film: he’s a systems analyst for a Tuna Company by day, and a super-their by night. He’s calculating, insecure and has a little bit of an invisibility complex. He began his life of crime after his job cut his benefits and began by selling classified corproate information to rival companies for money. Eventually, he went from hacking/digital theft and branched out into stealing top secret tech that was being developed by other types of companies: his theft of a sonar weapon (mentioned at the end of this short) is his first ‘big’ venture into typical supervillainesque crime which is why it made the news.

As a mid-level office worker, he feels very stifled and invisible at times. He definitely feels like just another cog in the machine and the noteriety he recieved in the criminal underworld for being a ‘super-theif’ helps stave off his greatest fear, which is going through life forgotten and unimportant.

Doing the turnaround sheet for him was a little tricky because I’m used to drawing him in poses that allow me to really exagerrate his ‘s-curve’ shape. But since characters are typically kept in a neutral pose for the sheets, it felt a little tricky to ‘straighten him out’, so to speak.

Unlike his son, Eel Man is a bit of an enigma in the short. He does need to keep a little bit of an ‘air of mystique’ so that it is plausible that Dennis could misinterpret his status of being a villain. Additionally, with the visor, drawing expressions was doubly challenging because it removed two of the main three components that really drive facial expressions (eyes, mouth, eyebrows). I did draw two images of him without the mask to hint at how he emotes around his family.

To round out the requirements for character in the Animated Short book, here are the action poses I submitted as a part of my pitch package to indicate how the characters will move. To me, I always begin with action poses before I even finalize character designs because it helps me connect character design, movement style and personality together. By drawing out how they behave, it helps me clarify (even to myself) a character’s identity/sense of being.

Dennis, ever the excitable kid, has very big movements. He puts his entire body into action and is very open with his behavior. I tried to remember how I moved when I was that age and personally, I remember being very impulsive and confident with everything I did: there was no planning or second-guessing, only action.

Eel Man also has exagerrated movements, but in a different way. His ‘s-design’ was chosen to specifically favor poses with strong lines of action: I really wanted to capture the dynamic poses typical to superhero comics, but also soften the seriousness behind the fight scenes by adding a slick, slithery element to his movements. He ‘slips’ and ‘slides’ everywhere.

The World: Style, Lighting and Color

The short takes place in a corporate office and has two main sets: The cubicle and the lair. The cubicle is a very tight and slightly dreary space, so the colors will be mostly beiges and neutral tones to convey a sense of corprorate drudgery. The lightingin the office (during Act 1) will be fairly even to indicate that this is the ‘mundane world’...The story has not truly taken off at this point.

The quick color study here is a rough indication of the palette for the transition between sets. It carries over some of the beige/muted orange elements from the office set while the intense blue forshadows the color palette for the lair. This is the still I’m most likely to revist to finesse the color a little more so that it is congruent with the other panels. I’m not entirely sold on the color of the slide and want to explore what a blue-grey might look like...or perhaps a more saturated bronze color.

In Act 2, when Dennis is looking around the lair and starting to come up with ideas of what this foreign space could possibly be, the color palette changes to a high-pitched, limited palette of blue/blue green. This was heavily inspired by Lou Romano’s color key work on the Incredibles, because the vibrant, limited palette imbues the space with a sense of ‘otherworldliness’, removing it from what both Dennis and the audience associate with our ‘day-to-day’ reality. The lighting is bright and still fairly even because not only do I want the audience to be able to drink in full ‘grandeur’ of the set, but tonally, the emotions of the piece are still largely positive -it’s a moment of discovery. I also want all of the props (such as the giant coin, the costume carousel, the supercomputer etc) to be highly visible. The narrative relies heavily on props to drive the plot (with each component acting as an indicator that the dad is a hero) and its also important to establish props that will come into play during Act 3 when the fight sequence happens.

In Act 3, however, the lighting changes. As Eel Man (our secret antagonist) enters the set and Dennis gets visual confirmation that his guess was right (sort of), the set darkens a little and the lighting becomes very high contrast to create a visual intensity that foreshadows the conflict. The color palette of the set is still blue, but leaning a little bit away from the turquoise end fo the spectrum.

These are two production stills for the film. I chose Dennis and Eel Man’s first face-to-face interaction in the film to showcase because their relationship is what lends impact to the revelation off Eel Man’s true identity at the end. I attempted to do a little more color blending to convey a ‘3D’ quality to the image, but I feel like I want to keep working on it because currently, some elements such as Eel Man’s arm and hand could use a little less exposure to the yellow light for higher overall contrast. But overall, it serves its purpose to convey the general lighting in the scene. The scene is illumnated with warm yellow light to be visually misleading, conveying the beginnings of something wonderful and new...

This is the second production still depicting the big ‘reveal’ when Dennis finds out that his dad is a supervillain. In this scene, he is illuminated by the LED lights of the television that is playing the broadcast that completely turns his worldview upside down. The teal highlights act as a visual calllback back to the palette of the lair,but now, the lighting is darker and far more dramatic to convey the sinister turn of the story.

Looking ahead, I really want to develop a more concrete color script for this short. What I have now gives a decent indication of color, but I’d like to push the lighting and shading within the style frames to more closely match the quality of light within the production stills. I also feel like at least two more stills (one of the office and one more in the lair during Act 2) would strengthen the color development, giving people a more concrete idea oft the final ‘look’ for the short. However, I did end up prioritizing the fixes to the animatic, as well as the creation of turnaround sheets over a color script at this current time because those items were the ones definitively required by the SCAD Animated Short Handbook.

Why Animation?

My answer to this question can be found in my description of both the characters and the world. When it came to development, I was favoriting very stylized and exaggerated designs. The character’s shape based design language to inform their acting, as well as the saturated yet limited color palette for the hero world should work in tandem to create a visual universe that far removed from anything that the viewers can easily associate with our ‘day-to-day’ reality (i.e. live-acton). The stylization and exaggeration, which can only be accomplished via animation, serves to make Dennis’s conclusiion that his dad MUST be a hero more believable to the audience by lowering the suspension of disbelief: if the audience doesn’t have a comparison point to explain the unfamiliar space, it excuses Dennis’s runaway imagination.

Although this story could be done in live action, it would change the tone of the story to something a little more corny (similar to Disney’s live-action film Sky High). Even though I personally enjoy campy superhero stuff, in this case, it would tonally undermine the theme that ‘life isn’t always black and white’, which I would like to avoid.

Final Notes and What Comes Next:

Taking this pitch from start to finish was a really interesting endeavor, especially in seeing how the concept evolved over time. I’m a large fan of DC comics, so getting to play around with some of my favorite tropes was a definite plus with this story. I know I personally enjoy hero origin stories a lot...I think the stories people come up with to explain what could drive a person into acts of superhuman heroism/villainy are pretty interesting because they reflect the things that majorly impact people’s lives (loss of family, social injustice etc, etc).

In a way, Origin, for me is as much of a coming-of-age tale as it is a superhero story. Dennis’s discovery at the end, that his dad was not the man he thought he was is an amplified version of how at a certain age, you realize that your parents are not necessarily these godly, untouchable super-humans who can magically solve all of your problems. Awknowledging that life isn’t always easy is a, difficult, yet essential, part of growing up and I wanted to touch on that in my film.

But-with that being said- I’m finally going to reveal what I think would happen after the title card! Originally, I had thought of this idea as a pitch for a television show and I think that after the revelation, Dennis would agree to be Eel Man’s sidekick so that he could try and discover WHY his dad would become a villain. I think he would actively try to sabotage his dad’s villainous escapades, because he’s still a good-hearted character, but I think his loyalty to his dad would lead him to agree to be his sidekick so that he could try to better understand his father. I think that if it were further developed into a series, that you could have a lot of fun coming up with various ‘heroes-of-the-week’ that Eel Man and Urchin Boy could encounter...So in a way, this short could double as a good ‘hook’ for a pilot.

In terms of moving forward with the production of the short, I’m really looking forward to seeing what my future teammates will bring to the production. The thing I enjoy the most about being an animation student at SCAD is being able to discuss and develop ideas wth other people who also love stories and storytelling. Everyone has such a different and unique way of viewing the world, that even being a small part of their stories during the feedback process makes me happy.

In the end, this was rewarding experience because it reminded me that storytelling is about finding common ground with other people.

Well...Onwards and upwards, I guess!

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dontshootmespence · 7 years ago

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Color, Movement, Emotion

A/N: An anon request where Spencer and the reader are dating and the reader is a ballet dancer. Spencer attends one of her recitals for the first time and he’s enraptured. The ballet I picked was Cinderella and the theater is the National Theatre in DC. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn

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“I’m here,” he said. Spencer had picked up the phone and called you immediately upon entry into the National Theatre. “Are you getting ready? Or can you come out for a few moments?”

She giggled at a joke her friend told her and excused herself from the group, disconnecting the phone as she walked up to Spencer in her outfit. After years and years and years of training, tears and burning passion, she’d achieved her dream of becoming a famous ballet dance. “Hey, Spence.” She wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her up, excited to finally see her dance. They’d been dating for a couple of months, and this was the first time he’d had the chance. She was the titular role in Cinderella.

“Hey,” he replied. “You look beautiful.” He pulled back and took in the sight of the costume, ragged like the character’s clothing, but still beautiful. The blue gown was worn to perfection, jagged and ratty at the ends, but mostly untouched in the center, where two beautiful golden ribbons crisscrossed. The sleeves were tattered and dirty and she had an equally beat up broom to use as a prop. The only pieces of her costume that remained untouched were her tights and shoes, shiny and on top and slightly worn on the bottom. “Good luck, okay?” He could see people backstage running around and getting ready and knew that Y/N had to join them.

“Thanks, Spence,” she said, standing on her toes and giving him a kiss. “And thank you for coming. It means a lot.”

“Of course.” He tugged gently at her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze before she went off and headed backstage. Taking his seat in the auditorium, he allowed himself to get wrapped up in the hustle and bustle of the crowed before a show. As he looked around, he noted the color of the walls was much the same as the dress she wore, except vibrant rather than worn. Embellishments too matched, golden trim lining the walls. It was a fairly small theater, the seats arranged into a near half-circle with boxes and mezzanines above his head.

He’d gotten so wrapped up with comparing the details of her costume to those of the theater that he didn’t notice the curtain had risen until a soft round of applause roused him from his thoughts.

Dancers began to flood the stage, the very animated stepsister sauntering across the stage in a way that elicited a laugh from the audience. While the stepsisters were evil, the ballet tended to play them comedically. Though the costumes were bright blues and pinks and were swirling across the stage in a spectrum of color, Spencer’s eye focused toward the back of the stage, where Y/N was. The bright colors of the other costumes were supposed to catch the eye, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her - her movements deft and graceful as the upbeat melody played.

When they’d first started dating and he learned what she did for a living, he asked if she would ever consider any other kind of dance, or any field in entertainment for that matter. She’d claimed that the only other field she’d considered was acting, but didn’t feel like her skills in acting were all that good - dance was where she excelled.

Although that was true, Spencer couldn’t disagree more when it came to her acting. As a behavioral analysis expert, it was of the utmost importance that he be able to detect facial cues and emotions. If the scene called for a forlorn, far-off stare, Spencer stared in awe as she made his mind flash back to those days he would sit in the cafeteria at school, yearning for something he would never have. When Cinderella’s dress was ripped apart by her stepmother and sisters, the sadness Y/N exuded brought a tear to his eye. He was emotional sure, but not in this aspect; when it came to film and entertainment, he was too practical, too able to dissect every clothing choice and every movement to within an inch of its life, but not now. Now, he was focused solely on her. They hadn’t been seeing each other for long, but he could so easily see himself falling in love with her.

The rest of the ballet passed by in a blur of color, movement and emotion, from the cast, as well as the audience. As long as Y/N was on stage, Spencer’s eyes remained focused on her. It was toward the end, when Cinderella finally gets the prince, that Spencer could see how truly in love she was with the whole experience. Her final costume was a beautiful off-white gown, mainly tulle, if Spencer was correct, but with bits of satin and lace design that allowed the costume to have layers. It was a gorgeous piece that someone had obviously spent hours making, putting their blood, sweat and tears into creating the most beautiful piece imaginable, but to Spencer, nothing could outshine the smile plastered across Y/N’s face.

The theater erupted into thunderous applause as the curtains went down, giving the cast just enough time to scramble together for their individual rounds of applause. It seemed like the clapping went on forever, tapering off periodically until the main cast walked forward, holding hands and taking turns playing to the audience. When Y/N walked up, the theater erupted again. Spencer couldn’t help himself, whistling his approval and clapping furiously.

For Spencer, it was over too soon. He could’ve watched her forever. While the majority of the patrons filed out, thankful for a night out, Spencer and a few others waited behind, presumably awaiting the arrival of a cast member and loved one. “Hi, Spence,” she said happily, her smile from before still radiating as she leapt off the stage. “How did you like?”

“I loved it,” he said, taking her face in his hands and placing a kiss on her lips. “I’m not normally one to get emotional during things like this, but you look...completely in your element up there. I can see why you love it.”

“I do. So much. I’m going to be trying out for Carmen next. Would you want to come to that one too?”

“Absolutely. For as long as we’re together I’ll be here every moment I possibly can.”

She smiled and took his hand as they began to walk outside and head to the restaurant where they had reservation. “I’m nervous about trying out of Carmen though. It’s much more powerful than Cinderella.”

“After tonight, I’m positive there’s nothing you can’t do.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #dontshootmespence #color movement emotion

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the-record-columns · 5 years ago

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Aug. 28, 2019: Columns

I’ve seen ‘nun’ other like it...

The nun doll

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

A couple of weeks ago, I attended the Friends of the Wilkes County Library Antiques Roadshow which was held in the Friends of the Library Meeting Room.

This has been an annual event for several years and is always interesting to attend as an exhibitor or just to look at the cool stuff. With rare exception, the things brought by are worth spending time looking at and learning about, both of which are good.

When I have something to be looked over, my major interest is to get to tell the story to the folks attending the Roadshow of how I got the piece, or its history, what makes it special, or all the above. To quote my buddy Sonny Church, "...Kenny is always looking for a fresh set of ears."

In this case today, I suppose a fresh set of eyes.

As often noted here, most of my "finds" actually find me these days. The stuff out front of The Record attracts visitors and folks with things to sell alike, and one day a guy walked in with a Davy Crockett lunch box.

I had bought a couple of things from him before, notable a nearly perfect "Flipper" lunch box, but the Davy Crockett box was in rough shape. We talked a bit and I told him I wouldn't be interested and, as he left, I walked out with him. I felt a bit guilty not buying the thing and walked all the way to his car with him and he opened the trunk.

There, on her back in a box of miscellaneous things was Mary—the doll in the picture on this page. I don't collect dolls, too many, too easy to get a piece of junk, too expensive—you name it. However, I knew if I could stand it Mary was coming in with me. I had never seen a Catholic nun doll before that day, and haven't seen one since.

I have showed this doll to anybody that has visited for the past five months and no one else has seen one either. The box of items with the doll each had a handwritten note with it as though whoever packed it up didn't expect to be around to tell about the items on their own. This note, which I have, says "Edward named this doll his "Holy Mary Doll” - He had a little Catholic friend, Timmy Higgins, who used to tell him about the nuns, etc."

I showed the doll to my Rotarian friend Rob Hicks who was raised Catholic and attended Catholic school for 12 years. Rob says the outfit is period for the 40’s era, but he had never seen a doll like this one either.

On it goes.

I know there are more of those dolls out there, but it is fun to have something that at least appears to be very rare—and to get to show it off to such a wide variety of visitors--makes the doll like the MasterCard advertising says: "Priceless."

One final note.

The guy with "Mary" and the Davy Crockett lunch box knew he had me, and he made me buy them both.

And, it was well worth it.

“It’s called ACTING, try it!”

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

If you are of a certain age, you had the opportunity to take Drama Classes at Wilkes Community College, where you could even receive an Associate in Fine Arts Degree.

Alas, the classes are no more, and two generations are growing up without the pleasure of filling their semesters learning the craft and magic of the stage: set and light design; carpentry; costuming; stage make-up (a necessity for both men and women actors) and most importantly the history of the theatre, and how to become someone else completely, regardless of your comfort level in someone else’s skin.

I knew I wanted to be involved in this magic as a wee child, from very first introduction to the world of singing and dancing your way out of the direst of circumstances- the Wizard of Oz. I was going to “Theatre or Bust” including once when I packed my bags and was off to join the circus and become a trapeze artist, at the ripe old age of 9.

I loved Broadway musicals, the costumes, and I was fascinated by the silent films. I was amazed as a teenager when my paternal grandmother pulled out a picture of her as a teenager, and told me she had a job at a theatre as the “cigarette girl”- and met big stars like Lash LaRue at the premiers. (Alfred "Lash" LaRue was a popular western motion picture star of the 1940s and 1950s. He had exceptional skill with the bullwhip and taught Harrison Ford how to use it for the Indiana Jones movies.) I loved going to the John A. Walker Center and seeing classics like Fiddler on the Roof, The King and I, The Sound of Music come to life in our little town, and I wanted to be a part of it.

I got my chance in 1993, when I had my first restaurant job at the age of 19, and Wes Martin was the bartender. He was taking said above classes to become a theatre teacher, and I was always agog when he spoke about production life. He invited me to see an adaptation of the Brothers Grimm tale of Beauty and the Lonely Beast. I was hooked, and the rest as they say is history- He’s the Wilkes County High School Theatre instructor, and I am in my 26th year of being involved in local and professional theatre.

Back to the beginning… If you are of a certain age, you most likely had Dave Reynolds as your theatre instructor. If you signed up for theatre as an elective and thought it would be an easy “A” you were mistaken. Reynolds made everyone work for it, including reading up on, and writing a term paper on what was going on in NYC on the Broadway stage; Saturday sweat sessions building/painting/lighting a set; the importance of finding the “perfect” prop; how to use modern clothing to look like period costumes, going out of town to see how other theatres interpreted shows through lights and sounds and acting…the list goes on.

I say all this to say, if you had Dave as an instructor, no one was immune from being told “What are we doing here? It’s called ACTING, try it!” when we were not living up to the characters potential. The truth of the modern theatre is that it has gone a full 180 degrees. In Shakespeare’s time, men played the women roles too as it was considered unlucky for a woman to be on stage.

Juliet? A man. Bianca and Katherina? Men. Cordelia? A man.

Beatrice? A man. Lady Macbeth? Yup….you guessed it. Which is why one of the funniest lines in Midsummer Nights Dream is when the bellows mender is told to play a girl, and he says “But..I have a beard coming in” then goes on to perform in a wig and dress, with a beard.

These days we are lucky to find enough males to fill male character roles. I cannot tell you how many countless times I have played a male character, whether it was the lead role, a lover, a tyrant, a father. It’s nothing to wince over, it’s called acting. And when acting, our only concern is to bring the audience into the story, into the moment, into the lights and glitter and stage magic, and make them forget that they know us in our real day to day lives.

Stella Adler, a theatre teacher herself told her students “The word theatre comes from the Greeks. It means the seeing place. It is the place people come to see the truth about life and the social situation. The theatre is a spiritual and social X-ray of its time. The theatre was created to tell people the truth about life and the social situation.” Her students included Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, and Harvey Keitel, some of the most famous for acting across the spectrum.

Truly, what are we on stage for if not to make everyone realize that we have space for all, and to portray every dimension of life’s diverseness? Theatre is where we go to see the truth of our world reflected through another’s eyes. “No theater could sanely flourish until there was an umbilical connection between what was happening on the stage and what was happening in the world,” said Kenneth Tynan.

So, if you have ever been upset with what a stage theatre presents, or come out of a production feeling uncomfortable, GOOD. That means we have lived up to our potential and done our job as actors.

That does not mean we are “reprobates, perverts and going to hell,” that means we have done our duty to represent every aspect of life and those who live it. Having found something offensive does not warrant a boycott of your local community theatre, threats across social media, and intimidating handwritten notes left on individual’s personal property. If you don’t approve, don’t go. “It’s called ACTING!”

No one ever said theatre was where we go to hide from current events, hot button topics or celebrating diversity in our community, but it has been said: “The theatre is traditionally where people go to hear the truth.” -David Mamet

By right and by fight, the land belongs to Israel

By Ambassador EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

How can anyone think otherwise except they believe the fake news? Gone are the days of investigative journalists digging for facts and sharing them without interjecting their personal philosophies or political beliefs. A half-truth is a lie, and a lie told frequently eventually becomes the truth.

I have witnessed how the media can change history. Decades ago, an underwater archeologist who is my friend, discovered the remains of a now-famous Civil War submarine, but he never received recognition. He followed protocol and filed the necessary documents with federal, state and local governments however, he never contacted the media. Years later a well-known author and deep-sea diver used my friend’s research and coordinates on file with the government, and went about the business of “discovering” (RE-discovering), this same sunken sub. Upon reaching the site, the media were immediately contacted and thereby received all the glory and fame. Although my friend presented solid evidence as being the rightful founder, he could not afford the cost of a legal battle to set the record straight. Except for a few who remember and a government file full of documents, the truth has been buried and forgotten.

This is the same tactic the Palestinians are using in rewriting Israel’s historic connection to the land. Our job, as Christians and as people who value truth, is to learn to separate fact from fiction.

The Palestinians claim ownership of the land they currently occupy, in addition to the land of Israel, based on a mythical connection they claim dates back 5000 years. This is false. So, who are the Palestinians? The truth is, there are no Palestinians. They are all Arabs.

The term “Palestine” was first used by the Roman Emperor Hadrian during his reign of the region. Hadrian hated Jews. He massacred many living in Judea and sent the rest into exile. He then began to erase any Jewish connection to the land despite archeological anchors. Hadrian renamed the area Syria-Palaestina to humiliate the Jews. The term “Palaestina” comes from Israel’s most ancient enemies, the Philistines.

Over the centuries the area of Judea and Samaria was ruled by many foreign powers ending with the Ottoman Empire at the conclusion of WWI. During Ottoman rule, the term “Palestine” was used to describe a general geographic area south of Syria between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River - not a specific place or people.

Following WWI, the Ottomans relinquished control of the region to the Allied Forces which decided to divide the area into countries. During this time, British Foreign Secretary Lord Balfour recognized the historical connection of the Jewish people to their homeland and earmarked an area of land for the Jewish people equal to about a half of one percent of the entire Middle East and it included Judea and Samaria.

The League of Nations, predecessor to the United Nations, granted powers to the victors of WWI to control the Middle East mandating them to prepare the local people to live and govern themselves independently. These areas came under the British Mandate of Palestine. Jews and Arabs were under British Administration, “until such time as they are able to stand alone.”

How did Israel come to possess the area known today as the West Bank and why do so many call it “occupied” territory?

On the day Israel became a nation in 1948 she was attacked by her Arab neighbors. Jordan took advantage of the turmoil and moved in claiming the West Bank without any legal justification. In doing so, the area known as Judea and Samaria became known as the West Bank (the land on the “west bank” of the Jordan River). In 1967, Israel was again attacked by her Arab neighbors in what became known as the Six Day War. Israel captured the West Bank from Jordan and the Gaza Strip from Egypt. For Israel, this was a war of self-defense. Those who attacked Israel did so with the intention of destroying the newborn nation and, according to international law, destroying countries is illegal. Miraculously, those who attacked Israel found themselves on the losing side, so they ran for help to the United Nations. The U.N. refused to label Israel as the aggressor however they did call for a negotiated solution – one that would leave Israel with defensible borders.

So, are Israel’s West Bank settlements illegal? If you believe the “fake news” narrative of today, then you believe that “Israel attacked her Arab neighbors, captured the West Bank, threw out the Palestinians and began building illegal settlements.” It’s worth repeating - never was there an Arab nation or state named Palestine therefore there are no “Palestinian” people. They are Arabs, plain and simple. They speak Arabic. Their culture is Arabic. Their history is Arabic. They are descendants of Arabs. There is nothing that uniquely distinguishes them from the greater Arab world. By right and by fight, Israel owns the West Bank yet the media and others continually refer to the area as “occupied territory.” At best, the land should be referred to as “disputed” territory. In the 20th century, Israel’s claim to the land was recognized by the leaders of the International Court of Justice. Therefore, Israel’s settlements in the West Bank are not illegal.

While there is no easy solution, any peace deal must be based on legal and historical facts. Truth, based on facts, must prevail.

Ducks, Home Remedies and Powerful Music

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

August is an interesting month.

The weather in the south is warming to get us ready for summer. Sweet magnolias perfume the morning air and stimulate thoughts of days gone by when visits on the front porch and lingering conversations were how folks spent their causal time.

I chuckle just a bit as I recall a few of the more colorful conversations I have engaged in this August.

One conversation with barber Gary was most interesting. He was recalling a story about ducks and their ability to sleep with one eye open. He asks if I knew whether or not that was true. No, I said, I have never heard that. When I left I could not stop thinking about those poor ducks who were not able to get a good night’s rest.

I find that research has at least a 50/50 chance of bringing peace to an unknown situation. So I set out to discover the truth about duck sleep.

I give thanks to Indiana State University for a study that was done in 1999 and published in “Nature.” The study suggests that some ducks do indeed protect each other when sleeping. As it turns out aquatic birds normally sleep together in a row and the ducks on the end of the row will keep the eye open which is facing away from the group. The study also showed that the ducks that were in the middle of the row tended to sleep with both eyes closed. The ducks on the end were engaging in what scientist call single-hemisphere sleep. The eye controlled by the sleeping side of the brain is closed, while the active side of the brain keeps its eye open and on guard. The good news being, that even while on guard, ducks can get some much needed sleep.

An interesting pollen induced August conversation that I had with a friend was about the making of a passed down recipe from generation to generation for a homemade cough remedy. It consisted of a good amount of white liquor, honey and horehound candy. As the story goes, after days of dealing with a nasty lingering cough that refused to leave, his wife asks him to make some of the special family medicine.

He did so, and when it was ready, he told her it was to be taken a tablespoon at a time. She said okay, and he went out to do some yard work. When he came back inside he noticed that the glass was empty and he ask if she had poured out the rest of it. She said, no, I did what you said, I sipped it all, a tablespoon at a time.

He said in about 20 minutes the phone rang and she jumped up to answer with a spirited “Howdy Do.” I was told that this was not her normal way of answering the phone, and the word soon spread, and over the next few hours family members called just to hear her highly energetic, all be it temporary zeal for life. The good news is, she didn’t cough any more that night, and she slept well.

There are several music festivals in the Carolinas in August, so it’s a good time to think about Music. I was setting at my desk one day and I heard producer Jared exclaim, the right music makes all the difference. He was searching for the perfect music for a scene he was working on. This is a never ending task in telling stories on the screen.

I had been listing to some work by composer and Steinway Master, Chad Lawson. His music is among a selection I listen to when I am writing. It seems to stimulate creative thoughts. I’m not sure if the music brings creativity or it relaxes me so that creativity can show up. In either case, music is involved. Sometimes it’s a recording and sometimes it’s the sounds of nature.

I called Chad, to get his thoughts on the matter, and he said; “It’s somewhat mystifying to me as a composer, I learned to not rush it and let it take root. Don’t over analyze it…accept it for what it is.”

I love talking with Chad about music, he always makes it sound so amazing.

The eighth month is a good time to reflect on the mysteries of nature, family cures and the power of a musical encounter.

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